Alien - Checkmate
by Stormonu
Summary: Deep under the seas of Earth, Christopher Frost finds himself in charge of security for a mysterious - and possibly dangerous - classified biological company research base. Strange dreams, disappearances and a hidden agenda hurl him towards an uncertain fate. This story is inspired by Zoommerfish's intriguing "AvP: New Beginnings"
1. Prologue

Michael Wayland sat at his desk, his steepled fingers touching the tip of his mouth. He could still feel a dull pain from the stitches placed to pull his damaged ear back in place. Outside his office, through the porthole to the left, the orb of Fury 161 hung like a bloody orange in the night-dark sky. He had hardly spoken a word since he had left the leadworks on the planet.

There was a rap on his door, and in a raspy voice he murmured, "Come in."

The door slip open, revealing a man clad in a silver environmental suit. His helmet was off, revealing a black-haired, bespectacled Filipino. Michael straightened at the man's appearance and the individual confidently strode into the room, bearing an old and coffee-stained manila folder.

He laid it on the desk before Michael and took a step back, assuming a casual military stance. Michael pulled the folder towards himself, reaching at a nearby set of glasses. He placed them on the rim of his nose as he drew up the folder and examined it.

"What is this, Abian?" he queried, opening it and glancing at the fragile, aging color spectrographs within. He grunted, noticing they were not in electronic form, and obviously rather old.

"These are spectrographic readings from 2004," Abian stated. "You'll want to take a look at the last few pages."

"Why bring these to me?" Michael asked, shuffling through the papers.

"Sir, those are spectrographic readings taken from the waters off Bouvetoya Isle on Earth. It's a forgettable place, a paltry thousand miles from Antarctica. However, those readings have a match to those taken from the subject in the EEV," Abian noted.

Michael stopped at the words, and looked up from the papers. "You mean?" he paused as realization set in. "But how is that possible? They were still working on the International Space Station back around then, not even a mission to Mars yet."

"I can fill you in on the details if you really want to know," Abian half grinned, to which Michael gave a dismissive wave. Abian nodded at the expected response, and continued, "I ordered a more recent scan before bringing this to you, and the results are far more positive than I could have hoped," he stated.

Michael cocked his head slightly. "How so?" he asked.

"It's still intact," he smiled.

Michael practically jumped to his feet, letting the papers fall to his desk. "That's incredible," he stated, "After 175 years, it is still there – in one piece?"

"Exactly," Abian hissed. "Despite the elapsed time and that it lies at the bottom of a trench several thousand feet deep, it appears to over 90% intact."

Michael pursed his lips as he calculated for a moment. "It's amazing it wasn't discovered earlier and retrieved; the technology to do so has been available for years," Before Abian could expound on the matter, Michael queried, "We have an undersea facility in the area, if I recall correctly?" Abian nodded, and Michael ordered, "Have the specimen brought there for examination. Then we need to prepare to return to Earth. I want to see this with my own eyes," he stated.

Abian nodded again, turned to leave, and then asked, "Sir, what about the double-Y chromosome criminal we retrieved from the Fiorina 161 facility?"

"No need to waste potential resources," Michael shrugged. "We can deposit him at the facility. I'm sure we'll find a use for him," after a moment's thought, he stated, "Have him prepared for integration; we can't have him babbling about this even inadvertently to anyone – not that any would likely believe him."

"Very good, sir, I'll have that done right away," he stated, making a notation on his personal pad. "We've also received communication from an interstellar drydock that the _Sulaco_ was intercepted not far from this sector," Abian added, "There is a team investigating – we may be able to intercept and recover the vessel. There is a remote possibility lesser specimens or trace goods may still be aboard her."

Michael nodded. "Very good," he murmured, "I suppose we can remain here for a few more hours until we receive confirmation," He said aloud. "Let me know if anything is discovered."

Abian nodded in understanding, then ushered himself out the door. Once Abian had left the room, Michael dared a smile. This was the best news in the past few weeks, despite all the recent setbacks. He was now less disturbed by the loss of his last specimen; there was still a chance to examine an entire, intact specimen of the elusive third species he had been investigating. With luck, the find should be able to recoup the losses caused by his junior assistant's mistakes on Acheron. He winced slightly at memory of his assistant's inability to control the situation, and in turn her – he had been right that her story was true, but from reviewing the EEV's logs the young man had evidentially overstated his ability to control her in retrieving the specimens.

It would be nearly two weeks to return home to examine the specimen, but his eagerness at the prospect of examining the specimen was so great he was not sure he would be able to settle easily into a two-week hypersleep. To both celebrate his upcoming success and to calm himself back down, he slipped to the locked cabinet behind his desk and, after inserting the key into the lock, opened it to reveal a host of knick-knacks collected over the lifetime of several of his forbearers.

Reaching behind the formaldehyde-filled glass jar on the middle shelf that bore an unusually large six-fingered hand, Michael located the bottle of scotch placed there prior to their launch. While he had hoped to use it for a grander toast, he felt Abian's news was worth breaking the bottle out. It had sentimental value to him – MacDonald, the former head of Weyland-Yutani, had presented it to him when a Weyland had once again reached the upper echelons after nearly eighty years in non-family hands. He was quite proud of that coup, and that the humbled MacDonald had presented it just prior to his forced "retirement" had made it all the sweeter. The recent loss of capital and materials at Acheron, as well as the loss of the potential specimen at Fury 161 had put a stumbling block before him as far as advancing in the company. He had dreaded what he would be facing in an internal board review inquiry back on Earth. However, with the logs recovered from the EEV, his deceased, overeager assistant would make an excellent scapegoat and to top it off, Abian's find had rekindled the hope

With the bottle retrieved, he turned back to his seat and slipped a glass out from one of the drawers, leaving the well-oiled pistol that accompanied it lying within. Then, after removing the wrapping off the bottle, he poured himself a fourth of a glass of whiskey and took a moment to uncharacteristically slip his booted feet onto the synthetic mahogany table.

He rose the glass and shone it at the porthole, the whiskey's orange-red color almost matching the bloody color of the moon beyond the tempered glass. "Sorry old girl," he spoke to the phantom shade he himself could see reflected in the glass, "but I'm afraid I still win."


	2. Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

The last of the seawater drained through the flooring in the grate as the metal vestibule completed the seal with Facility 23 and the _Ikelos_. A few moments later, the pressure door leading into the facility depressurized and lifted open. Once open, it revealed three individuals standing just beyond within the drab reception area. The three stood atop a small glass dais, into which the emblem of the Weyland-Yutani Corporation was inscribed. The near-bald man in the center was taller than his flanking companions, and stood impatiently with massive fists upon his hips. He was dressed in gray, nondescript work suit, the blue company symbol emblazoned on his left shirt pocket. He chewed an old, unlit cigar in his wide mouth, the stubby brown object occasionally brushing against the black mustache that draped over his lips.

The woman to his left was comparatively thin and wiry, and had a visibly nervous look to her. She was dressed in a cream skirt and a white shirt, over which she had donned a freshly bleached lab coat. She nervously adjusted her tie – a garish, waist-long thing slathered in off-kiltered bands of blue, whites and blacks. A gold company emblem tacked the colored strip to her flattened chest.

On the right was a man of medium height, but he looked quite distinct with his swarthy skin that glistened from underneath his tank top-like gray ballistic vest. He wore marine parachute pants, though they bore a muted gray camouflage pattern. He had stuffed the bottom of his pants into a pair of worn, black steel-toed boots. He was also the only one armed, cradling an all-black bullpup carbine in both hands, with the barrel pointed towards the floor.

The rusted metal ventricle to the _Ikelos_ spiraled open, revealing three figures, one behind the other, in the lighted hallway beyond. As the last of the metal teeth of the ventricle retracted into the wall of the facility, the figures moved forward, one by one.

The first, Michael Weyland, was tall and thin. His face was aged, with slowly thinning brown hair. He wore a simple blue work suit, with his hands tucked into a light jacket donned over the ensemble. A dark navy scarf obscured most of his neck, and he only looked up once he had walked past the pressure door into the large entry room where the three individuals stood.

Noting the stance of the tallest man in the waiting chamber, he motioned for Abain to come to his side. The Filipino, who had entered second, was now dressed in a black business suit and wore a set of square, tinted spectacles. He immediately heeded Michael's cue as the third man in the vestibule moved up to Michael's left.

The third man was a tall and slender bald man with a hook nose and piercing green eyes. He was dressed almost casually, with long black cotton slacks that showed discolored wear at the knees. A loosely knitted gray shirt dangled over his waist and over that was a leather jacket. As he came up to Michael's side, he removed his hands from the jacket and sneered at the three waiting for them just ahead.

"This supposed to be some sort of welcoming committee, ladies?" He sneered, pointed his gaze at the armed man across from him and raising his arms up in an aggressive manner. Michael frowned, and touched his hand on the man's chest, who instantly calmed his aggressive stance.

"Mr. Richards," Michael nodded to the large man.

"Mr. Weyland," the tall man nodded, "Welcome to Facility 23."

Michael cocked his head slightly, "Is there a problem Tony?"

Tony, the tall man, gave a forced smile and let his hands slip from his hips as he moved forward. "Just some recent personnel problems," he admitted, reaching Michael and offering to shake hands. "I'm hoping you'll look into it after you've settled in."

"What about the specimen?" Abain asked as Tony and Weyland shook hands, "We were ensured it had been recovered?"

"It's doing splendidly," the wiry lady beside Tony beamed in a squeaky voice, offering her bone-thin hand to Michael, who hesitated to take it. After a moment, the lady withdrew it, running it through her straight, black hair before pocketing both hands.

"Mr. Weyland, this is Professor Lendingrass, on loan from UCLA," Tony stated, "She's currently the lead researcher on project 701."

"I've taken extensive notes on our progress," Lendingrass interrupted, rocking on her heels. "I'm quite eager for you to review them."

Michael forced a smile, "Mr. Arguilla will be happy to review your progress," he stated with a nod, indicating the scowling Abain beside him. Lendingrass reacted as if she'd been hit by a bus, but then managed to regather her composure and nodded affirmatively.

"Well," Michael stated, and turned back to Tony. "Is there a more comfortable place we can continue this discussion?" he asked, "I have quite a few items to unload and I'd like to examine the facilities a bit."

Tony nodded, and motioned for the armed man to take the lead as the others began to file out. Michael walked beside Tony as they moved into the dull gray corridors beyond the reception area. Abian followed just behind, with Professor Lendingrass falling in afterward and Michael's man bringing up the rear, leering at the professor from behind her back.

"How are those mercenaries working out?" Michael asked as the group moved through the mostly deserted upper halls and towards a large elevator in the center of the structure.

"That's what I wanted to discuss with you, Michael, before we get started." Tony grumbled. "Sable's just recovering from a black eye," he explained, indicating the man in front of him, "I've got a bit of a troublemaker on my hands – a merc named Christopher Frost. I was hoping you'd handle him."

"Frost?" Michael stated, raising an eyebrow. "I remember him – he came _very_ highly recommended."

"Obviously, someone else wanted to dump him off on us," Tony remarked.

Michael patted Tony on the shoulder. "Don't worry, I'll talk to him."

"Seems you've picked up a mercenary yourself," Tony remarked, indicating the swaggering, thin man at the back of the group.

"A recent acquisition," Michael smiled. "It was suggested to me after recent events."

"Uh-huh," Tony stated, "has he been cleared?"

"Yes," Michael stated, looking past Tony, "Nicholas is clean – and reliable," he added, glancing pointedly at Tony. "I would trust him with my life."

"You always were a bit, naïve, Michael," Tony remarked.

A few moments later, the group had reached the large cargo elevator that would take them down another five levels to the heart of the research station. Just before they stepped in, a hollow, metallic groan echoed through the roof above them. Professor Lendingrass winced slightly at the sound, but neither Sable or Tony seemed to pay it any heed.

"Damn, what the hell was that?" Michael's bodyguard asked aloud.

"Structural fluctuations," Abian replied, non-plussed. "I assume, they're normal?" he queried, directing the question at Tony.

"Quite," Tony nodded. "This upper level is always making sounds, it's why I don't staff anyone up here, it spooks them out."

"I can see why," Nicholas stated nervously. "Sounds like the damn thing could come down any moment."

"Mr. Morse," Abian stated calmly, ushering the nervous bodyguard into the elevator with the others, "This facility has been in operation for over twenty-five years. There is no need for concern."

Nicholas nervously shrugged, "Oh, and I suppose they have a regular maintenance schedule too," he stated as the doors slid closed.

"Constant inspection," Lendingrass piped up from the back of the elevator. "It is, after all, the only way out."

Nicholas's only response was to slowly turn and glare at her as the elevator began its descent to the primary section of the facility.


	3. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

The solid rap on the door caught Michael's attention, and he looked up from the electronic pad he had been examining in the cramped, white-walled and windowless office. "Come in," he stated plainly from his seat behind Tony's desk, and the door slid open with a mechanical hiss.

"You wanted to see me?" Chris stated, walking in. Once he was inside, the door automatically slid shut behind him. He was a bit shorter than Michael by about a head, but his body had an impressive muscle tone. He took a military stance just to the left of the door, his cap firmly stuffed into his left hand, his right hand behind his back. Like the mercenary Sable, he wore gray camouflage parachute pants, with the bottoms stuffed into a pair of glossy steel toe boots. However, unlike Sable, Chris wore a short-sleeved gray shirt similar to Tony's, though Michael could make out the outline of the tank top-like ballistic vest tucked underneath the shirt. Over the shirt, Chris wore a leather bandolier with a half-dozen pockets designed to hold additional rifle magazines. He carried no weapon on his person, however.

Michael's face wrinkled with a smile as he rose and came around the table. "It's good to see you again," he stated.

Chris blinked, clearly not expecting Michael's presence. He dropped from his stiff stance to a more relaxed pose. "Mr. Weyland," Chris stated, "I heard rumors you were coming, but I didn't believe them."

"I'm here in the flesh," Michael stated, holding his arms wide. A little more seriously, he added as he clasp his hands together, "And I'm told you've been causing problems down here."

"I'm not the problem," Chris stated matter-of-factly, tossing his blonde hair out of his eyes and flashing a perfectly white, toothy smile.

"Oh," Michael sardonically replied. "Then what are these reports I hear of fist-fighting with the other guards?"

Chris thumbed his nose, then stated, "I didn't start those fights with those riff-raff," he replied. "They jumped me."

Michael paused as if weighing Chris's words, then moved back a step to lean against the dull metal desk. "Tell me more."

"These mercenaries you hired think they're a bunch of tough cookies," Chris explained. "Not much discipline, but they think they have to be on top of the pecking order. They can't stand to have someone better than them around."

"I see," Michael nodded. "So you had to beat five of them into submission?"

"It started as sparring practice in the rec room," Chris stated. "Half an hour later, it was pipes and bats back at the barracks. I would have taken it easy on them even then, but one of them brought along a shiv."

"So, naturally you had to defend yourself," Michael suggested.

"I sent Brenden - the merc with the shiv, to the infirmary with a broken humerus," Chris replied. "Stan got a bloody nose. The others, enough bruises I thought they'd think twice about trying again."

"What about the incident with Sable?" Michael asked.

"He was sniffing for an apology for one of his friends," Chris shrugged. "I gave him a black eye instead."

"And professor Lendingrass?"

"I wouldn't harm a lady," Chris protested.

"But you did threaten her," Michael stated, patting the datapad.

Chris blushed slightly, and for the first time looked down. "She'd forgotten her badge for the third time that week," he explained. "She got a little pissy and I guess I got a little back."

"Well," Michael sighed, "Unfortunately, this has all been documented in your record and brought to my attention." He continued, pulling up the datapad and tapping through it. "Assault on other security personnel, insubordination, dereliction of duty..."

"What?" Chris asked, scrunching his face. "I've never been derelict."

"According to this, you were thirty minutes late getting to your post a week ago," Michael stated, glancing at the pad.

"Yeah, because that ass Stan had me stationed on the other side of the complex and 'forgot' to tell me," Chris retorted.

Michael bowed his head, and pinched the bridge of his nose with the fingers of his right hand. "And you then left your post to confront Stan, which after a loud argument in front of three other witnesses you slugged him in the jaw, whereby he lost three teeth and was laid up in the infirmary for two days, resulting in you pulling his shift _and_ yours until he was fit to return to duty."

Chris only stated, "Oh."

Michael looked up. "Chris," he said in a paternal voice, "You've been to three theatres and probably have more combat experience than any of the other men in this base," he stated. "That was why I recommended you for this position. However," he paused, "We are in a facility several thousand feet below the surface. It takes four hours to safely reach the surface, just because of the pressure down here. If anything goes wrong down here, there are no take backs. We can't have someone blowing their top down here - there's too much at stake."

"I understand that," Chris apologized.

"Well," Michael stated, "I can't ignore this," he waved the datapad, "There's clearly an authority problem going on here."

"I-," Chris started, but seeing Michael's stoic face, he stopped. "Yes, sir."

"I am going to recommend you for reassignment," Michael stated, exhaling deeply.

Chris sagged, bowing his head. "I'm going to promote you to head of security for Section 10," Michael stated.

Chris looked up, "A promotion, sir?"

"These are," he nodded, "a group of rag-tag misfits who need a strong, guiding hand. I believe that can be you."

"Sir - why?" Chris asked.

"This report," Michael stated, putting the datapad back on the table, "shows me a facility in chaos. There is no clear chain of command among the mercenaries. They have a blatant disregard for the importance of the research we are doing here. Further, your incident with professor Lindenglass tells me you understand the importance of protocol in this base - and a willingness to take it seriously," Michael admitted, "I believe this facility would benefit from having you in the right position."

"Sir, with all respect, I think this will only aggravate the others," Chris admitted.

"That's why we'll start you out with Sector 10," Michael stated. "Start small, and as you gain respect we can expand your duties." He smiled slightly, "I'm quite sure, with the right authority, you'll put the fear of God into them."

"Yes sir," Chris nodded emphatically, then corrected, "I'll do my best, sir."

Michael nodded, "That will be all for now."

"Thank you, sir," Chris beamed, moving towards the door. A moment later, and he was gone.

The side door to the room slid open, and Tony slipped into the room, frowning.

"That wasn't what I was expecting," Tony stated, eying Michael.

"He's had a rough patch," Michael explained, "But overall his record is exemplary. He's never late, follows all procedures and has some of the best eyes among your men for trouble."

"He's also a loose cannon," Tony remarked. "Doesn't back down from a fight..."

"And never loses one," interrupted Michael. "In this facility, that counts for a lot."

Tony was silent a moment. "Sometimes, it's better to know when not to pick a fight," he mused, continuing to eye Michael with a disapproving glare. He harrumphed as Michael gave a sly smile, and folding his arms, he asked aloud, "Do you know the story of the scorpion and the frog?"

"I'm not familiar with that - a parable?" Michael asked.

Tony nodded. "Story goes, that there was once a scorpion who wanted to cross a wide river," he stated, launching into the story. "He found a frog that lived on a lily pad at the edge of the river, and asked the frog to take him across." He paused a moment, then continued, "At first, the frog refused. He was familiar with the scorpion, and told him, 'I cannot, for if the water touches you, in your panic you will sting me, and I will die.'" Michael sagely nodded at the words as Tony continued, "But the scorpion finally persuaded the frog he was being foolish, for clearly if the scorpion were to sting the frog as they crossed, they would both perish." Tony took a moment to lick his lips, and then continued, "So the frog allowed the scorpion to climb on his back and into the river they went. The current was strong, but the frog easily made his way across, despite the extra load on his back. But as the frog feared, half-way across water splashed on the scorpion, and in his panic, he stung the frog's back with his deadly poison. As the dying frog asked the scorpion why he done this, the scorpion replied, 'For it is my nature.'"

Michael was silent a moment as he took in the parable. "So, am I to assume that Chris is the scorpion and I am the frog? That by placing my trust in him I am endangering myself?"

Tony merely replied, "Watch your back," as he stepped out of the room.


	4. Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

A black cloud passed in front of the sun, draping the formerly bright, green meadow with shadow. Cold, icy wind assaulted Chris's face as the green fronds revealed bloody red undersides in the waves of wind that coruscated over the rolling plain.

Just past the slight rise of the meadow, a figure stood tall and sturdy, with her back to Chris. Part of her legs below the knees obscured by the curve of the hill. The wind whipped at her long, raven-black hair, raising it into cobra-like tresses that danced about her head. It was hard to tell the color of the short skirt pressed against her by the wind, but her blouse seemed to be of the same dark color.

As he saw her, Chris suddenly remember with a tinge of dread that he had seen her before. He had a sudden desire to approach her, but a gnawing fear at the thought as well. With long strides that seemed to cover yards with a step, he quickly strode up behind her, coming to a stop just out of arm's length.

Chris drew out his arm to touch her on the back, but froze as she slowly turned to face him, as if she already sensed his presence. Her dark, almond colored eyes and thick, crimson lips took him aback. He was not sure if it was the shadows from the hidden sun, but her skin was dark – almost as if black ashes had settled upon her features. He was surprised to see that in her hands she held a small, white-furred creature. He could not quite make it out; perhaps it was a rabbit. It was then that he noticed the limp form in her hands shone with blood dripping from its long black teeth.

She regarded him with those large, dark eyes and it made Chris sorrowful – and afraid. He was about to ask her name when her right arm shot out, faster than even he could react. She held her hands like spears, piercing through skin and bone before the limp, fur-covered form she had been holding struck the ground. He gasped as her blood-soaked hand wrapped about his heart, squeezing it. She looked at him curiously, as if she did not understand the emotions of fear and pain that flashed across his face.

Chris crumpled to the ground, landing on his side and unable to move or call out, though he found his gaze still locked with dark-skinned woman before him. He could feel the blood pouring out of his chest as the entire sky above turned from muted blue to a storm-tossed black. Iridescent blue lightning illuminated the woman from behind, her emotionless and unflinching gaze still locked onto Chris's slightly twitching form, his slowing, but still-beating heart held in her gore-drenched outstretched hand. Snow began to drift from the sky, unaffected by the wind that still tossed her raven strands and she spoke a single, menacing word that seemed to burn into his very soul.

"Alexis."

Chris awoke with a start, sitting straight up. He was in his bed, but the room was pitch black. He grasp at his chest, his heart beating painfully within. At least, he reassured himself, it was still there. He took a deep breath, then called out, "Lights."

The lights to his small room rose gradually, though the green fluorescent numbers on the clock beside instantly flicked on, revealing it was 5:10 AM. His alarm would have gone off in twenty minutes, but there was no way he was going to be able to return to sleep. With a groan, he lifted himself out of bed and stumbled to the even smaller bathroom to start his day.

After the brawl in the main recreation center, Tony Richards, the facility administrator, had removed Chris from the common barracks and placed Chris in one of the unoccupied officer's quarters in the abandoned north sector, in the hopes of preventing the mercenaries from seeking retribution against Chris. In many ways, Chris hated the isolation, especially with the recent string of nightmares that had visited him in the last two weeks. He had been loathe to bring them up to the facility's shrink, but with them getting worse, he was beginning to reconsider keeping them to himself.

Chris hauled himself into the shower, which occupied all but the small corner of the bathroom that also held a squat ceramic toilet. He made the water as hot as he could stand and held a musky bar of soap close to his nose to avoid smelling the faint stench of seawater carried from the facility's water reclamation system. The smell had always bothered him, but all of the others he had complained to told him it was his imagination; they swore they could not smell it and stated that the system's purification process completely purged any trace of the sea from the water within.

He remained in the shower until he could discern the sound of his alarm clock in the nearby room. After shutting off the water and draping himself in a towel, he moved back into the main part of his room and proceeded to shave with an old-fashioned straight razor. He was very fond of it, having received it as gift before he left on his first tour. He kept it sharpened himself, and its presence in the myriad battlefields he'd fought across gave him a strange calm. The calm he had self-induced to prevent cutting himself now came naturally and automatically wherever he picked it up. As he proceeded to clear the stubble from his upper lip, he nicked himself bad enough to drop the razor in the sink. Blood flowed freely from the slice and he cursed himself as scrambled to find something to staunch the flow. To his chagrin, the closest thing was the towel he had wrapped around himself, and he struggled to pull it free to stem the flow.

_Calm down,_ he finally told himself, once he'd ripped the towel off and dabbed at the small pool of blood. It was at that moment he realized his ears were pounding, the drumming sounding like distant artillery shells. Still holding the towel to his bleeding lip, he let his head hang as he steeled himself. Within a few moments, the worst had passed. Only a red line shown where he'd cut himself now, and after a quick glance through his medicine cabinet, he found and applied an antibiotic sealant that glued the abrasion shut. Chris fished the straight razor out of the sink and cleaned it off on an unblemished section of the bloodied towel. He then cast the towel aside and carefully finished shaving. After checking the smoothness of his face, he set the razor aside and dressed.

By the time the alarm clock showed 6:00AM, Chris had finished his routine and left the room. The abandoned north sector was a dreary place. Unlike the other three sections of the living quarters level, the metal walls were unpainted and there were black, gaping sections where machinery had been removed and not replaced. The base's maintenance staff had removed the false ceiling in the area some time before he had arrived, revealing a skeletal, aluminum-ribbed frame filled with segmented conduit piping and exposed fluorescent lighting. Where metal corners formed, the dull orange of rust grew from unseen rivulets of condensing seawater.

Chris hurried through the halls; the silence in the abandoned corridors and closed rooms bothered him. As he reached the convergence of the four sections of the living quarters level, he could hear - and most importantly – feel the other denizens of the base likewise stirring and gathering for breakfast as the late shift started to retire to their quarters. In all, there were some 250 personnel in the base. Some fifty or so consisted of the mercenary force that had replaced the company security forces. They were spread thin through the five levels, with only two patrolling each the four sectors of the five levels at any given time with a "day" and "night" rotation. Another fifty were scientists, such as the annoying professor Lendingrass, assigned to the over two hundred ongoing projects underway at the base. The remaining staff consisted of support personnel, ranging from accountants, data entry clerks and their attendant computer technicians to janitors and maintenance staff – and at least one on-staff lawyer.

Chris filtered through the growing line to retrieve his usual breakfast fare; two slices of raisin toast, scrambled eggs, a bowl of yogurt and glass of orange juice. Normally, he avoided coffee, but feeling the past few days of restless sleep tugging at him, he retrieved a warm cup of the gray fluid and proceeded into the round dining hall.

He was happy to find Michael there, bleary eyed and cradling a cup of coffee as his assistant, Abain droned on about something that sounded seriously mind numbing. Michael's bodyguard, Nicholas, leaned his chair back an arm's distance from his master, dangling a piece of bacon above his mouth and nipping small bits from it. Chris had the impression he was watching a shark nibble away at a small fish as he watched for a moment.

"Is this seat taken?" Chris asked Michael, indicating the single empty white chair at their table.

"Ah Chris," Michael brightened, "We were waiting for you – have a seat."

Chris maneuvered to take the chair. In the distance, he noticed that professor Lendingrass, who had been approaching the table, stopped in her tracks. Frowning, she turned and disappeared into the growing throng filling the hall. Sighing happily, Chris took the seat and placed his tray and drinks on the table before him.

"When did you start drinking coffee?" Michael asked.

"This morning," Chris replied, taking up a spoonful of yogurt.

"Long night?"

Chris shook his head negatively, not desiring to reveal last night's dream – or the ones before. He glanced up at Michael, who looked at him with old, tired eyes. "Should I ask you the same?" he queried.

Michael pulled his coffee closer, as if protecting it, and then took a sip. "Still a bit out of it from hypersleep," he mumbled, and then smiled. "I hope you're ready for today."

"Tony told me to report to Sector 10 at about 6:30 today," He admitted. "Haven't been filled in yet on my new duties."

"Of course not," Michael nodded. "I'll be doing that."

Chris stopped spooning the yogurt to give Michael a sidelong glance, "I'll be reporting to you?"

"For at least the next few months," Michael stated.

"Must be a big project," Chris laughed. "Especially to leave that floating laboratory you love."

"Ah, yes," Michael nodded, "The _Prada_, as I recall. I traded her in a year ago, for something a bit more … sophisticated."

Chris grunted. "I would have never thought you would give that ship up. You nearly kept me up all night when you got it. We must have walked the length of it at least five times."

Michael nodded. "I was young and foolishly in love back then," he smirked.

Chris shook his head. "Well, when do I get my orders?" he asked between sips of orange juice.

"Just as soon as you finish up, we'll take a walk to the sector and I'll show you," Michael stated, holding his coffee up to toast.

Chris complied, also raising his orange juice and the two softly clinked glasses, as an onlooking Abain scowled. Nicolas, who had finished his single strip of bacon simply watched, holding his own coffee. He sipped in silence, his beady eyes sizing Chris up. Chris could feel the man's stare on him and sent a cold chill along his spine. Something about the man's gaze reminded him too much of his earlier dream encounter. Likewise, he could feel a hollowness emanating from the man, and a single word seemed to come to the fore of his mind as Nicholas's eyes burned into him.

The word was _dragon._


	5. Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

Chris swore under his breath that he hated 10-hour shifts. If this were his new schedule for the next few months, he would need to find a way to get a decent night's sleep. If he did not, he was sure he would scatter his brains across the north sector with his own service weapon before two weeks were out.

As he passed back through the desolate halls, his weary mind began to wander and he thought back on the day's activities. When Chris had first arrived at Facility 23, Tony assigned him to Sector 7 on the second level - a sort of standard testing ground for new recruits due to its lack of classified projects, and populated mostly by data clerks and middle managers. After the incident in the recreation room, however, he found himself reassigned to garrison Sector 3 on the first level - essentially the home quarters of the common data clerks and janitorial staff for the base. At least when he had been working on Sector 7 he had mostly been dealing with people who were awake. Sector 3 was one step away from the ghost town of Sector 1, the north sector.

Arriving at Sector 10 on the third level with Michael was unlike anything he had seen before. However, there was a central elevator and antechamber on the level, thick airlocks separated each sector on the third level. He also perceived smart guns concealed in the entryway, pointed at the elevator and anything that stepped off or on it. Sector 10 itself actually had three internal levels - a lower sublevel where project associated materials were stored, a midlevel where the actual project work occurred and a top observatory level/catwalk from which the managerial staff could oversee and guide progress on the various projects that were underway.

Michael and Chris, with Abain and Nicholas in tow, arrived beyond the airlock on the midlevel. It consisted of nested corridors that ran to a series of black-tinted and numbered small labs. At the end of branching corridors was the largest lab, for it ran from the sublevel up to the catwalks on the observatory level. Chris noted that it was large enough to easily house a shuttle within, and like the other labs it windows were tinted solid black.

Chris was taken aback to find Sable waiting for the group at the door to the huge lab. He quickly realized he should not be surprised - the mercenaries worked in pairs and someone had to be guarding this part of the facility. Out of the mercenaries he had dealt with – between the arrogant lords of the lower sectors and the lazy squatters over the living quarters, Sable had been the most inoffensive and professional. Though the two had come to blows regarding his last argument with Stan, he respected that Sable, overall, was the sharpest out of the bunch of tools he'd had to deal with.

Michael had smiled at Chris's reaction, though Tony had allowed a wary grimace pass across his face. "I believe you are already familiar with Mr. Vincent Johnson?"

"Everyone calls me Sable," the mercenary responded, tipping his cap to the four, even Chris. He frowned slightly at Chris, but remained professionally cordial.

Michael nodded, and continued, "Mr. Frost will be taking Mr. Winstone's place for the next few months." Michael stated to Sable as Chris held out his hand to shake.

Chris froze in holding his hand out to Sable, and both mercenaries glanced at Michael. "Stan?" they queried in unison. Sable then broke out in raucous laughter.

"Did I miss something?" Michael asked.

"Stan Winstone," Chris explained, "He's the idiot whose jaw I broke." Sable again doubled in laughter.

"Kid, he's going to kill you," Sable said when he finally regained his composure.

"Is this going to be a problem?" Michael asked the two mercenaries.

Chris mouthed, "No," as Sable nodded and announced the inverse.

"I'll take care of it, Mr. Weyland," Tony interjected. "I'll make sure there's no problem."

Chris glowered at Tony, but said nothing. Sable simply continued to smile at the irony of Stan's replacement. Before they continue, the door to lab 32 swung open, and a thin, wiry lady stepped out, her face buried in a datapad. "Lendingrass?" Chris asked as the scientist exited the lab and closed the door before looking up at Chris's utterance.

"You," she seethed. She glanced at Tony and asked, "What is he doing here?"

Michael started, "Ms. Lendinglass –"

"Lendingrass," the professor murmured lowly. As she saw Nicholas leering at her, she tugged at her knee-length skirt, as if she were suddenly wishing it were longer.

"Sorry - Lendingrass," Michael corrected himself, "is the lead researcher for the projects in this area. You'll be providing protection for her and her staff in this area."

Chris glanced from Michael to the professor, the latter who straightened her overcoat and made sure her badge was clearly visible. He smiled inwardly, then asked, "Protecting her from what, exactly?"

"Several of the experiments are with live xenomorphic specimens," she blurted out.

Michael, Abain and Tony gave her a grave look, and she promptly clamped her mouth shut before expounding further.

"Xenomorphs?" Chris asked, turning to Michael when Lendingrass did not respond. "You mean alien species of some sort?"

"Yes," Michael stated with a slight sigh. "I won't say which specifically at this time," he said, "But as you well know, we've found an amazing diversity of flora and fauna already in existence on several of the colony worlds. We're studying them here for a variety of reasons – mostly for medical and ecological means."

Chris nodded, but then stated. "You know bioweapons research on Earth is prohibited."

Michael seemed taken aback. "Of course," he replied, "what makes you think we'd be performing bioweapons research?"

"I don't think we'd be protecting scientists from alien pandas," Chris replied, tapping his weapon holster and nodding to the heavy rifle Sable carried.

Michael gave a slight laugh and looked to Tony. "I told you he was the most observant one here," He gave Chris a pat on the shoulder. "Don't worry Chris. No bioweapons research is being conducted here. I promise."

"But some of the species are predatory in nature, I assume?" Chris stated.

"Yes," Abain confirmed when Michael seemed hesitant to respond. "There is always the chance – no matter how slight – of a containment breech."

Chris noticed that Nicholas seemed to suddenly glance about nervously at the statement, and Sable glowered slightly. It made Chris uneasy that despite his obvious reaction, he could not sense Nicholas's emotional state. The others were easy enough to discern. Though the thought of a breech gave them some concern – especially Sable, they were clearly confident the chance of a breech was highly unlikely. However, he could also feel there was something Michael was holding back, and it had nothing to do with the alien species held here.


	6. Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

The rest of the morning passed slowly as Michael took Chris on a tour of the sector with the group in tow. Nearly half of the labs, with their blackened windows, contained machinery dedicated to processing chemicals extracted from the samples hidden within cages in the other labs. Like the outer labs, the blackened windows to the xenomorphic cages made it impossible for Chris to discern their contents. However, he could both hear and feel the presence of the creatures within the extraterrestrial cages. He could sense their uneasiness about their containment and in most cases, their fear of the researchers. The researchers paused their experiments as the group passed through, and most were cool or distant, sharing handshakes and exchanging names as Michael made introductions. He was sure most of them had forgotten his face by the time he left the room, but he took care to memorize their name and features for future reference. Though Chris could not see the interior of any of the labs, Sable ran him through the security protocols to check the state of each of the beast's confinement.

After an hour or so, the group retired to the sector's command center. While Michael, Tony, Abain and professor Lendingrass met in an adjacent conference room, Sable introduced Chris to the security command console. It consisted of a bank of monitors that observed the sector's hallways and a panel displaying the status of the various security systems throughout the area. The panel tracked which individuals had swiped into an area, as well as the status of the various alarm systems and the two remote turrets - one stationed in the main corridor confluence and the other just outside the central control area.

"This is some serious firepower," Chris noted. "Fifty caliber, explosive tipped; 1,100 RPM's and several minutes worth of ammunition."

"There's some serious shit in those cages," Sable replied. "Especially that big one," he stated, nodding at the hangar-sized lab. Chris could sense Sable mentally shiver when he mentioned the huge lab. He considered asking about it, but decided it was not worth the risk – for now.

"So, do we rotate between patrolling the halls and monitoring from here?" he instead asked. Back in Sector 7, he had done a mix of walking and monitoring, but in Sector 3, it had all been working from behind the console, with him only getting out and stretching his legs when he could no longer stand the tediousness.

"Rotate," Sable replied. "One of us should probably be in here at all times," he stated. "In case someone hits the alarm in a lab."

"That happens much?" Chris asked.

"Once," Sable frowned. "It wasn't pretty," he said. "It didn't get out into the hall, but it made a mess of the lab."

"How did you get it under control?" Chris asked.

Sable was quiet a second. "We torched the lab." He replied.

"Shit, that's harsh," Chris stated.

"Yeah, well let's make sure we don't have to repeat it," Sable stated, glancing over the command console.

A sudden thought hit him. "Did the scientist who pulled the alarm get out?" Chris asked.

"No," Sable replied flatly. "But the five of them were dead before we got there. Stan's predecessor, who went in there to try and contain the situation, didn't make it either."

Chris bit his lip. Generally, there were only two guards at a given location at any time. Sable must have been the one who had to torch the lab. He regretted he had pressed on the subject.

Sable gave Chris a quick rundown of the panel's controls, which Chris repeated back to the older black man when the demonstration had finished. Sable was clearly impressed with Chris's memory and attention to the details of what the panels showed – and what they implied. Michael returned to the two after he had completed the conference, and the group broke for lunch. Sable remained behind to monitor the sector and professor Lendingrass turned down the lunch invitation while the rest of the group retreated to the commissary on the first floor. Tony parted ways with the group, instead retiring to his office to deal with other matters that would take the rest of the afternoon.

"So, what do you think?" Nicholas asked him, setting down with a tray filled with baked salmon and some noodles.

Chris gave a cautious glance to Michael, but when the latter nodded in approval, he bobbed his head and stated, "I can handle it."

Nicholas let out a hiss of derision and wrapped several noodles around his spork before slurping the noodles up. "Kid's not impressed," he said to Michael.

"I didn't say that," Chris retorted, playing with the cup of yogurt on his plate. "I'll take it over my current assignment any day, Mr. Weyland."

"You should have showed him some more of your toys," Nicholas stated to Michael. "Maybe introduced him to Maya."

"Maya?" asked Chris, looking to an exasperated Michael.

Michael's expression shifted to an amused smile, and he glanced around. He seemed to feel confident that no one else was listening, and stated, "Maya is the next generation in synthetic life forms," he replied.

"She's got human skin," Nicholas breathed, leaning his chair back on its rear two legs before Abain could stop him. "Not that synthetic rubber shit, either. Real. Skin."

"Mr. Vangue, please," Abain calmed, forcefully grabbing Nicholas by the arm and pulling Nicholas forward, so that all four feet of his chair slammed back down, loudly. Abain withered as the noise caused several heads to turn in their direction.

"So you haven't given up on robotics?" Chris stated to Michael.

"Not entirely," Michael admitted. "I still have some projects to sort through."

The remainder of their lunch went quietly, and the group returned to Sector 7 afterward. Michael parted ways with Chris, taking Abain with him. He left Nicholas behind with Chris, and Nicholas relieved Sable so the latter could take his own lunch break.

Once the two seated themselves before the security control panel, Nicholas leaned back and put his brown loafers up on the panel. "I'm a bit surprised to see you and Darky getting along so well," Nicholas teased, placing his hands behind his bald head.

"Sable," Chris corrected, "I'm a little surprised too," Chris admitted, ignoring Nicholas and keeping his eyes on the console's display readouts, none of which seemed to even fidget or change. "I'd figured him for one of Stan's thugs."

"Your damn lucky it didn't turn out that way," Nicholas stated, before leaning back to whistle.

"Lucky," Chris breathed, annoyed. "I'll take skill and hard work over luck any day."

Nicholas chuckled, "I'll take the reverse, thank you very much," he smiled.

Chris knocked Nicholas's feet off the console, "I'm sure you do."

Nicholas, thrust back into a seated position, brought his hands back down, "Don't get me wrong," he warned, leaning forward to glare at Chris, "I'm good. But around here, you've got to be careful about being too good," he said. "Can't keep them guessing if you're too predictable, know what I mean?"

"No," Chris admitted.

"You'll figure it out," Nicholas nodded sagely, leaning back again and putting his feet back up on the console.

The two were quiet for several minutes alone in the dimly lit room before Chris finally sighed and stated, "Tell me about this Maya."

Nicholas smiled, "Oooh, top secret, kid. Hush, hush."

"Forget I asked," Chris growled.

"Eh," Nicholas shrugged, glancing at the chronometer on the upper panel. "We've got some time to kill. Why not?" He grinned at Chris. He leaned conspiratorially towards Chris and then whispered, "She's got real boobs."

"Okay," Chris scowled, "I think I've heard enough."

"If you ask Mr. Weyland real nice," Nicholas continued, "Maybe he'll let you rub her-"

"Knock it off," Chris growled, "I said I heard enough."

Nicholas laughed. "Kid, you don't know what you're missing."

"What is the dragon?" Chris interjected, trying to change the subject.

Nicholas stopped, and his gaze turned dagger-like. "Where did you hear that?" He asked, his hands shaking slightly, as if from fear or with rage – Chris couldn't tell as he still couldn't seem to read Nicholas's emotions.

"You said it," Chris replied. "At breakfast."

"No," Nicholas stated slowly. "I don't think so. That's not something I talk about with anyone." His brow furrowed and he asked, "Have you been reading my file?"

"No," Chris countered, "Should I?"

"Yeah," Nicholas nodded, a feral grin growing upon his lips. "Maybe you should." He leaned back, and his eyes flicked to the monitors. He glanced back to Chris, and he appeared calmer. "Why don't you go take your patrol? I'll call you when Sable gets back."

Chris remained in his seat a moment, trying to gauge Nicholas's words. Eventually, he rose, retrieved a sidearm and made his way out and down the catwalk from the third floor of the sector back to the midlevel.


	7. Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

Chris stood before the massive lab at the far end of Sector 7. It was a white, rectangular edifice with rounded corners. It stretched from the sublevel to the walkway above, stopping just short of the sector's external boundary. Unlike the other labs, there were no blackened windows at all bored into the thick metal. A small, horizontally bisected door that was flush with the wall was the only way in.

As he stood in the empty, frozen-white corridor that led up to the building, Chris felt a cold sensation run down his back, and his breath started to fog the air before him. As he breathed, the fog continued to gather, forming a warm mist that clung about his feet and ankles. He did not know why, but he felt the compulsion to approach, and brought his open hand up to touch the wall. As he neared, he realized that carved, translucent blocks of thick ice formed the lab's walls, and a slight blue lit them from the inside.

He became aware of the sound of growing whispers as his hand neared the wall. A span of a finger away, out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of the wall shift, as if some snake-like baby were slowing moving across the stomach of a titanic mother.

"Chris, I'm back," echoed into his headset, jarring him out of his entrancement. He blinked his eyes and glanced around. He was standing in the middle of the sector, surrounded by the one-story tall blockhouses that composed the lesser labs. The large lab was far enough away down winding corridors he could not see it from his position.

Chris checked his chronometer. Sable had left a little over an hour ago. Perplexed, Chris called back, "I'm down below in one of the main corridors – I'll be back in a few minutes." He turned back towards the command center, and as he did so, he felt the wave of cold return, lightly tapping him on the shoulders. He glanced back, casting his gaze towards the unseen chamber, and shaking his shoulders, marched back to the security command center.

By the time he returned, Nicholas, as well as Michael and Abain, were long gone. Chris spent the remainder of the day in the control center with Sable.

"I'm somewhat surprised you're still here," Sable stated, sitting back and throwing a bottled drink to Chris. "Tony told me he was going to have your behind deported."

"I'm surprised too," Chris admitted, glancing at the bottle and taking the seat next to Sable at the control panel. "Mr. Weyland apparently overrode Administrator Richard's request to have me removed." As he sat down, Chris glanced over the control panel, ensuring everything was in order.

"Well, Mr. Weyland seems an intelligent fellow," Sable agreed, propping a leg up on the far side of the console. "And I'm beginning to think I may have misjudged you too," he said with a tip of his own drink to Chris.

"So, I'm not a smart-mouthed punk," Chris asked, raising an eyebrow. He noticed that two of the technicians – Reynolds and Piper - were absent from Lab 5, having swiped out while he was gone. He assumed, like Sable, that they have left for a late lunch.

Sable smiled at the memory of their first conversation. "Not so much as I'd thought," he grinned. "You're pretty damn smart, kid, and you take direction well."

Chris shrugged, "You've been here longer than I have, and I figured it'd be wise to heed your advice."

"Damn kid, keep that up and my head might not fit back through that door," Sable warned, taking a swig from his bottle.

"Is this really root beer?" Chris asked, displaying the bottle to Sable.

"Kid, we ain't allowed to drink alcohol on the job," he replied.

"No, I mean," Chris asked, looking at the bottle. "Where the hell did you get root beer from? I've never seen a bottle of it in the commissary."

Sable only chuckled. "Damn, you don't miss a thing do you?" He asked aloud. "I got it from Stan's stash. He makes the stuff himself. He has a real sweet tooth for it, but I figured he owed you. Says he got the recipe from his grandma, but I'd bet traded for it on some backwater colony he jobbed on."

Remembering that Sable had worked with Stan, he asked, "So, what did Stan tell you about me?" Chris asked.

"That you were all mouth – and you got a lucky shot in," Sable said between swigs, "I can confirm that neither is true. That was a solid punch you gave me a black eye with."

"Sorry about that," Chris replied.

"Well, I should have checked my source before I threw that punch," Sable admitted. "Have to admit, when I first saw you this morning, I was afraid we were going to end up in a round two," he shrugged, "But you have way more class than those bozos give you credit for."

It was Chris's turn to shrug, and Sable gave a short laugh. "That's the spirit kid," Sable smiled, "Keep it humble and they won't be able to touch you."

The two talked more, and after another hour, they had reconciled and gained a newfound respect for each other. Sable was cleaning up the empty drinks they had consumed when Chris leaned forward and pulled up the details on Lab 5. Reynolds and Piper had not swiped back in, but two other researchers had logged in to take their place. Chris glanced up at the chronometer and asked, "Hey Sable, how long are the shifts around here?"

"Ten hours standard," Sable replied. After he had finished changing out the garbage can he asked, "Why do you ask?"

"Reynolds and Piper in Lab 5," he indicated the control panel. "They've been gone over two hours," he stated, "They swiped in on the morning shift, only about six hours ago."

Sable moved over to the control panel and double-checked Chris's findings. "That's a little odd," he remarked, though Chris did not sense he was overly concerned. "They did swipe out though. I'll let Ms. Lendingrass know, see if we need to be concerned. You stay at the console and keep monitoring," Sable stated.

Sable left the security station, closing the door behind him. The other central offices were just next door, including Lendingrass's office. Chris was happy to remain behind and not deal with the oddball professor Lendingrass. A few minutes later, Sable returned.

"False alarm," Sable stated, taking his seat again. "Lendingrass had them transferred to Sector 11; they've permanently swapped project teams."

"In the middle of the day?" Chris asked, "That's peculiar."

"Son, every damn day can be peculiar around here," Sable warned. "We gotta make sure they cross their 't's and dot their 'i's, but we don't ask the why."

"That just smells funny," Chris stated, shaking his head. "They could have least let us know. I should have inspected the lab before they let the new staffers in," he complained. "Tony shouldn't pull those sort of stunts, reassigning folks in the middle of the day without letting security know," he scowled, remembering Stan pulling the same thing on him last month, "What if they had their badge access revoked?"

"Tony's a teddy bear," Sable stated, "but don't ever tell him I said that. It's these head researchers, like Ms. Lendingrass you gotta watch out for. They're the ones who get upset when you ask questions you shouldn't. They're the ones who transfer you for getting _too_ nosy."

"Oh, if Lendingrass was in charge of the transfer," Chris rolled his eyes, "that explains it all. No wonder we didn't hear anything about it, she probably forgot about it until you walked in that office and reminded her they were gone."

"Don't get on her bad side," Sable warned.

"Too late," Chris remarked.

The last few hours passed quietly. Chris took the opportunity to walk a patrol down the white corridors in his seventh hour on duty, stopping into Lab 5 to make a quick check on the machinery there and to acquaint himself with the two new researchers. He was surprised to find them oblivious to the presence of other researchers prior to their arrival. Checking the machinery, he furrowed his brow when he noticed the newcomers had arrived in the middle of the machines still running tests on specimen samples; they had simply picked up where the last had left off without questioning why the prior researchers had left with equipment still running. It made Chris upset; protocol was turn the machines off when no one was present to monitor them, in case there were volatile chemicals involved.

When Chris returned to the security control station, he kept his findings to himself, for the moment. He did not know why, but something about the entire matter did not sit comfortably with him. Further, Sable's initial dismissal of the matter started to make him wonder what professor Lendingrass and Sable had actually discussed.


	8. Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

As the tenth hour on duty arrived, Sable and Chris's "nighttime" replacements arrived. Chris was familiar with both of them – one of them was Brenden Yultz, Stan's crony and a foul-mouthed former marine. The marines had drummed the towering man out of the service despite his court-martial failing to prove conclusively he had killed his own commander. Yultz was an oily, decrepit man marked with numerous scars along his face and arms from a half-dozen hand-to-hand encounters. The man kept his black hair short so it would not curl and had a bad habit of plucking the rest of his hair out, strand by strand, when he was bored. He kept a combat knife in his worn boots, and like many of the other mercenaries, disdained wearing the company issued outfit, dressing only in the camouflaged gray parachute pants and wearing the required tank-top ballistic vest. Luckily, he seemed surprised to find Chris at the security station, though his curses expressed he was not happy to find him there either.

Before a fight broke out, Michael Weyland also stepped into the room, with Nicholas at his side. Chris could see Abain behind the two, unhappily glowering at the proceedings.

"Gentlemen," Michael stated to the four, "I gather you are familiar with each other?"

Yultz and Sanchez, the new arrivals, did not respond. Michael took note of the tension in the air, and continued, "Mr. Frost is the sector's new security chief, and reports directly to me. Do you know who I am?"

Yultz glanced to the shorter Sanchez, but it was Sanchez who negatively shook his head. Sanchez seemed tiny next to Yultz, though he was still taller than Chris was. The mercenary was a dark-skinned latino with short-cropped hair and an athletic physique. He was dressed entirely different from the others; somewhere along the way, he had dyed his vest a bright red color and had tucked his brown boots into black fatigues he had found.

Michael nodded, as if expecting the answer. "My name is Michael Weyland. I am a biomechanical engineer with twenty years of service to Weyland-Yutani and I also sit on the board of directors," He paused, and then gave a soft smile, "And if you review your work permit, you'll find my name signed at the bottom."

The last sentence gave both men pause as they gazed over at Chris and Sable, the latter who had folded his arms across his chest as he stood slightly behind Chris.

"Mr. Frost has just completed his first work shift in this sector - the first shift of many to come," Michael continued. "You'll be seeing him here quite regularly, and reporting to him on a daily basis."

There was silence for a moment, and then Michael stated. "Mr. Frost, if you will accompany me, we will begin on the second half of your duties - the paperwork. Mr. Johnson," Michael nodded to Sable, "thank you for you cooperation this afternoon. Have a good evening, and do lock up on your way out."

As Michael motioned for Chris to follow him out of the room, Yultz made a noise, and then spit at Chris's feet. Michael glanced unapprovingly at Yultz, but Chris ignored the man and made his way out. Nicholas had stiffened at Yultz's insult, but Michael stopped him with a light hand upon his bodyguard's chest. Once Chris was out of the room, Michael turned away and accompanied the young man to the nearby conference room. Nicholas, however, remained, leaning against the doorway and glaring at Yultz. Moments later, Sable made his way out of the room, ignoring Yultz's disapproving glare and Sanchez's glower.

Once Michael had guided Chris into the faux oak-lined conference room, he whispered to Abain, who nodded and left. Once the assistant was gone, Michael pulled the door shut. There was a single mahogany table in the center of the room, surrounded by several high-backed, plush black executive chairs. Chris took one along the left side of the table, near a stack of papers. After closing the door, Michael took a seat at the head of the table and rolled a pencil out of his pocket to Chris. "Well, other than that disgraceful bit of business at the end, how do you feel?" Michael asked.

"Up until a minute ago," Chris admitted, "tired." He glanced at the stack of papers, and then at Michael. "Really?" he asked.

"That, my son is the daily recap for Sector 10," Michael explained. "I had it printed out so you could get a feel for exactly how much work goes on here."

Tentatively, Chris hefted up the first section of ten or so and thumbed through it. It was at least a hundred pages. "Do I have to review it?"

"No," Michael chuckled. "You only need to initial the bottom page. The whole report is just for the record."

"But, if I don't read through it, how do I know it's accurate?" Chris stated.

"Because you just spent the last ten hours living it," Michael asserted. "This is all tracked by computer," Michael stated waving his hands. "It's all gobbledygook and nonsense to the uninitiated - research notes, lab access, material requisition, system results, spectral analysis, computer input - the whole thing. We archive a terabyte of this information a day per sector. And," he motioned to the stack, "at the end of the day we initial that it all happened."

"No one reviews this?" Chris asked.

"Most of it, you're not cleared to read," Michael explained. "But the company requires your signature so we can sign your paycheck."

"That doesn't sound exactly fair," Chris stated, gazing at the stack of paper.

"You'll find my signature at the bottom as well," Michael stated. "Twenty years from now, when this day sits on some backup in some mainframe in the depths of this base, forgotten - does it really matter?"

Chris shook his head. "It doesn't feel right. I should at least review what I actually did."

Michael smiled, and reached into his jacket to remove a rolled up sheave of papers, perhaps twenty thick. "I had hoped you would say that," Michael stated, unfurling the papers and passing it across to Chris.

"A test?" Chris asked, grasping the papers and glancing through it.

"Every day is a test," Michael stated, leaning back. "This was more of an evaluation, though. Take as much time as you need to review that copy," he stated, rising, "but I do need it signed."

Chris nodded as Michael moved to another door in the room behind Chris and opened it. "You, Donaldson," Chris heard Michael state as he glanced through the papers, "I need you to shred a document for me." A moment later a chubby, thirty-old man entered the room, dressed in a standard gray company jumpsuit. The man was balding and wore square, wire-rimmed spectacles. He seemed poured into the ill-fitting jumpsuit, and Chris noticed he purposely avoided eye contact with Michael. The mousy man moved over to the table where Chris sat and hefted the thousand or so pages easily. A moment later, and he had left the room, though Michael lingered a moment, ensuring the documents were placed in the shredder. Only when he heard it begin its work a few moments later did Michael turn away.

"After you sign," Michael stated, "You're free to go," he paused, then added, "I hear they're having chicken cacciatore for dinner tonight."

"Only if they managed to get real chicken down here," Chris retorted. Seeing Michael's smile, Chris shook his head. "You're incorrigible." He remarked before Michael closed the side door to leave him with the document.

Thirty minutes later, Chris had finished reading the papers and signed the document. He moved to the side door Michael had used and opened it. It opened into a gray room with a steel cubicle shoved into the far right end. There was no sign of Michael; obviously, the man had left out the other door in the revealed room, to Chris's left. Sitting at a terminal in the middle of the steel cube, with the green text reflecting on his face was the same man Michael had referred to as Donaldson. Chris cleared his throat and the man looked up, turning a lamp on at his desk before turning his computer display off. "Yes?" he asked, turning the desk lamp so that the light shined directly into Chris's eyes.

"I've signed the report," Chris stated, shielding his eyes against the glare. "I'm assuming I need to give it to you?"

"Oh, yes," the man said, as if he had forgotten Chris had been in the other room. He quickly stood up and moved around the desk to take the document. He glanced at Chris and added, "We don't normally print these out," he said, taking it back and dropping it on his desk. "In the future there will be a datapad beside your console to sign before you leave."

"Will I be able to review it before I sign?" Chris asked.

"Uh, yes, I believe so," Donaldson thought aloud. "At least, whatever you're cleared for."

Chris sighed, wishing he had a chance to review what had happened when Reynold and Piper had left, or possibly the conservation Sable and professor Lendingrass had. His conversation with Sable had been in the document he signed, but not the other conversation, which further had made him suspicious about the entire event. What was even stranger was there was no mention of Nicholas in the report at all, as if the man had never been there. Chris said his goodbyes to Donaldson and then made his way out of Sector 10 back to the living quarters. If he were lucky, he might catch Michael at dinner - or at least the chicken cacciatore.


	9. Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

It was close to six PM when he reached the main dining hall. The area was just filling up, and as he hoped, he located Michael at a table at the far side of the hall. He was dining with Abain, listening, as Abain no doubt filled his ears with the day's events. Michael waved pleasantly to Chris, motioning for the young man to save him from Abain's droning monologue. Chris smiled, acknowledging Michaels attempt to get his attention, motioning he was going to grab his own dinner before joining them.

Normally, Chris forsook the main course, preferring the bland yogurt to the synthetic, injected meats offered by the commissary. The only real meat was the fish raised in one of the lower sectors, though Chris avoided it - it was probably experimental in some way.

However, this time they were serving honest to goodness real chicken - he could tell immediately by the lack of it's fish smell, which all of the synthetic meats were based on. Though he was not overly fond of the steamed hydroponically grown vegetables, he recognized their value and took a helping of carrots and broccoli, and was surprised to find authentic hollandaise sauce to accompany them. Topping off with orange juice, Chris found his way back to Michael's table and happily, if though wearily, set himself down.

Michael waited until Chris had cleared half the plate before he asked, "Do you like it?"

Chris looked up, as if realizing for the first time in months that he had nearly inhaled the dinner. "Oh yeah," he smiled.

"I'm glad," Michael nodded, "I thought you might enjoy a chance of pace, at least for one evening."

"Man, I am going to be so spoiled after tonight," Chris laughed. "Where in the world did you find chickens?"

"As we were coming back by Mars, they were having a sale," Michael explained.

"You liar," Chris sarcastically retorted, in-between mouthfuls of chicken.

Michael gave a soft laugh and threw his hands up in surrender, "Guilty as charged." He stated. "Actually, Abain here acquired them for me. But I'm not brave enough to ask him where from."

"They still manufacture them in Nanking," Abain stated plainly.

"There you are," Michael stated, leaning back. "All natural, manufactured right here on Earth."

"Manufactured?" Chris asked. "I hope you're joking."

"I do not kid," Abain stated morosely. "But I perhaps misspoke. The chickens are free-ranging from Nanking, but the breast you eat is manufactured - cut - at a factory nearby."

"Well," Chris stated, "whatever, it's surprisingly good. You must have wiped out the farm to feed everyone here."

"Don't worry about the expense," Michael stated, leaning forward and cutting Abain off from responding. "Everyone here has been working diligently; I can afford to reward our employees in at least a small way."

"That's right thoughtful of you, Mr. Company Man," Chris smiled and both men laughed.

The three continued to talk some more as Chris finished his meal. Whenever Chris or Abain attempted to bring up matters about work, Michael stopped them, clearly keeping the subject on non-work matters. When the conversation began to slow, and Chris sensed that Abain still wished to discuss business matters with Michael, Chris excused himself and bid Michael a good night.

As Chris made his way to return his dining tray to the cleaning station, he stopped in his tracks as Stan, the most aggressive of the mercenaries, stood in his way. Stan was a giant of a man with skin as white as ice and hair as red as a blazing fire. The man had lost his left eye in the Mars uprisings, and replaced it with a cybernetic solid black orb. His other, steel blue eye was cloudy and unfocused; Chris knew instantly he was drunk. He reeked of the scotch he had been consuming, and the almost empty bottle was still in the man's left vise-like grip.

"Drunk on duty, again?" Chris sighed.

Stan stabbed a thick finger in Chris's direction. "You keep your trap shut and listen, runt." The taller man groused. "I'm the head of security in this damnable edifice and I don't like some troublemaking nobody trying to pulling strings to get me reassigned to his pathetic post."

"I didn't pull any strings," Chris had countered, "But at least someone else in this facility has the balls to stand up to you."

"You can't talk to me like that," Stan bellowed, rearing back his free hand as if to strike Chris across the face with it.

Chris stood his ground. "Go ahead," Chris hissed, "Try it."

"I'm still fit enough to beat your scrawny ass," Stan had roared taking three steps back and breaking the near-empty bottle on the steel table nearby.

Stan had advanced with the broken bottle top, a growl on his lips. In response, Chris whipped about, bringing his steel-toed boot up with a roundhouse that wrapped about Stan's neck and dragged him down to the ground. Stan's head bounced as he hit the padded carpet. Chris was taking a step back from the kick as Stan rolled on his side, drawing up in a fetal position. The drunken mercenary promptly vomited and collapsed cheek-first into the orange-flecked yellow pool.

"I don't think so," he had muttered down to Stan before departing the area.

As his mind returned to his tromp to his room, he felt as if he were not only moving in slow motion, but as if the corridors were stretching out and away from him. If it were not so disturbingly silent, he might have taken a moment to rest against one of the walls; perhaps even take a quick nap. He then stopped walking as he suddenly realized he was lost.

With the staccato of his steel-tipped boots silenced, Chris was now aware of whispering filtering through the barren halls. He knew he had never heard other voices in the halls before, nor that anyone else should be in the area. Slowly and silently, he slowly stepped toward what he perceived to be source of the whispers.

After a minute of following the whispering voices, he came upon a juncture in the corridor. The fluorescent lighting in each of the three adjacent halls had died, and a single, dangling incandescent bulb lit the center of the juncture.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a figure slip into the darkness of the left-hand corridor as the whispers died. However, the sight of the individual in the center of the cone of light in the juncture froze his soul.

"What are you doing here?" he breathed, as he gazed upon the tall, slim form of the woman from his dreams.

She only gazed at him with her almond-colored eyes, slightly narrowed as if annoyed her conversation had been cut short. Her raven hair did not dance about her head, but instead hung limply, falling just short of her shoulders. As before, she wore a dark colored skirt and blouse whose color was difficult to discern in the harsh light from above and behind her.

Chris dared to take a step towards her, but he could feel the entire corridor seem to shift equally away as he did so. The woman in the juncture slightly tilted her head in a manner that made Chris stop in his tracks.

He suddenly realized she had stopped looking at him, and focused her darkening gaze on something behind him. He heard it hiss and whirled to face it.

Behind him, a black shadow rose from the shattered metal grating in the floor. It was not quite human, its phantom, shadowy limbs stretched out as the light gave them inhuman length to reach across the width of the corridor. Its long head set upon a snake-like neck and its legs bent backward at the wrong angle. Chris reached for his gun, only to find it was not there. Before he could bring his fists up to defend himself the thing hissed and unhinged its jaw. A moment later, it expelled a vile fluid, and Chris felt the very flesh melt from his bones.


	10. Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

Chris's eyes shot open in his pitch-black room, every muscle in his body tensed and rigid. It was several moments before he stopped breathing heavy and could move his arm to wipe the beaded sweat from his brow.

"Lights," he intoned, and as before, the lights to his room slowly rose to reveal the unadorned gray walls of his small room. Chris rolled slightly to his right and read the green florescent lights on his clock - 5:10 AM. Again. Falling back against his pillow, this time Chris lay waiting for the alarm to go off before he started to get up.

As before, he went through his routine of showering and shaving, before dressing and heading to breakfast at a quarter to six. He quickly walked through the abandoned corridors of the north Sector with his hand on his sidearm, but as normal, the silent halls yielded nothing.

Within a few minutes, Chris reached the commissary. The morning crowd was only slowly beginning to filter in, too sleepy to talk and slowly forming a zombie-like line for their morning meal. Only a handful of the relieved night shift crew personnel hung about, clutching cups of steaming coffee and staring into the cups, not wanting to be bothered. Michael was not present in the commissary, but he did find Sable there, reading a magazine as he coddled a cup of steaming coffee.

"Mind if I sit here?" Chris asked, holding a green tray that was half-full from his usual morning meal – and a cup of coffee.

Sable nodded, and Chris sat heavily into the chair.

"Mr. Weyland keep you long last night?" Sable asked between sips of coffee.

"Not really," Chris stated. "I just didn't sleep well."

"Nightmares?" Sable asked, leaning forward and putting down his coffee.

Chris was hesitant to speak at first, but as he stared at his own cup of coffee, he nodded. "Vivid dreams," he confessed. "They feel … almost more real than when I'm awake."

"That's not a good sign," Sable replied, guardingly. "Memories?" he asked, "Maybe from a battlefield?" he queried.

"No," Chris sighed. "A woman – she keeps showing up in my dreams. Killing me. I don't remember her when the dream starts, but," he paused; "I know I've seen her before just before she…" he trailed off, not finishing the sentence.

"Well, I'm not a doctor," Sable comforted. "But I know a good one that can help with dreams," he stated. "I can give you a reference to her, if you'd like."

"As long as she isn't named Alexis," Chris mouthed.

Sable gave a slight chuckle, but nodded. "Nah, her name's Samantha," he stated, "I'll write her info down, and you can talk to her this evening. She happens to work the night shift." Sable leaned back and added, "I can give her up for tonight."

"You have nightmares too?" Chris asked as Sable took a moment to write the information down.

Sable handed the small white card he had scribbled on to Chris as he answered, "Kid, the battlefield can leave some nasty scars. Some of the shit I've seen – hell, done." He said quietly, "It doesn't always want to stay in that dark place in your mind."

Chris took the card, and blankly stared at the writing as he considered Sable's words. He had been to three separate war zones in the meager three years he had been fighting, before he had left the slaughter to come to Facility 23. He was grateful Michael had given him the opportunity to leaving the nightmare of war. He wondered, if perhaps, if something deep inside him was not so eager to leave it all behind.

After Chris slipped the card into his shirt pocket, the two sat and Chris ate. As the time for their shift approached, they cleaned the table and made their way to the central elevator. Upon seeing the line of individuals waiting to load onto the large central elevator, Sable directed them to a nearby stairwell. Swiping his badge, the two entered the spiraling staircase that wove around the round elevator shaft and walked down the third level. Sable again swiped his badge at the doorway at the bottom of the stairs, and the two exited out near the large security airlock that led to Sector 10.

"You do that a lot?" Chris asked.

"Not usually," Sable shrugged, "But it's legal. Security and sector managers are the only ones with access – unless there's an emergency."

As they moved up to the security airlock, they passed by several staff members just departing the sector. Chris looked back to the elevator to see it open and a handful more stepped off, heading towards them.

"Bit of a traffic jam this morning," Chris observed. "It wasn't like this yesterday."

"Little busier than normal," Sable stated, swiping his badge on the airlock door. It took a moment for the door to depressurize and open, and as they waited, a small queue formed behind them.

"Check their badges as they come in," Sable said, moving into the airlock and depressing a button to hold the door to the small room beyond open. "If they're forced to come through one at a time, we're going to have a lot of late staff and an unhappy research administrator."

Chris was hesitant to override protocol, but nodded at Sable's logic. He ushered the staff members into the small room, checking their badges as they passed him. However, when the airlock was comfortably full, he motioned for the few remaining staff to wait and nodded for Sable to close the door.

The airlock door closed slowly, leaving Chris to face several unhappy individuals left outside. However, he stood firm, not allowing them to enter. After the huge door had sealed, a moment passed, followed by a hydraulic hiss and the inner door to Sector 10 slowly swung open.

As the staff filtered out and headed to their assigned labs, Chris and Sable waited until the room cleared before stepping out themselves.

"Pretty good, kid," Sable stated as they made their way up to the command center.

"In what way?" Chris stated.

"Being smart enough to know when common sense overrides protocol, but not a pushover either," Sable stated.

"Well, I'm human too," Chris replied. "Getting a group in here all at once seemed logical, but I didn't want us all stuffed in one room at once."

They reached the security command center, and Sable was the first to walk in. Chris was slightly hesitant, expecting Yultz and Sanchez in the room, waiting to be relieved. When he found the room empty, he was visibly irked.

"They already left?" he said aloud. Sable looked puzzled for a second, and then realized what Chris was talking about.

"Might be a good thing not to run into them at six AM in the morning," Sable countered.

"They better have left a report," Chris fumed, taking a seat beside Sable and flicking through the panel's controls.

There was a datapad beside Sable, and the he picked it up, glancing at its contents. He sighed and handed it to Chris. "With love," he stated sarcastically.

Chris could quickly see it was their report, and it was signed in a big scrawling signature _Fuck You._ Chris just shook his head.

"I hope you're not going to make a big deal about it," Sable questioned.

Chris took a deep breath, and stated, "Not this time. Maybe a discussion tonight." He paused, thinking about that. However, he decided he would rather deal with his dream problem first, and revised his statement, "Maybe tomorrow."

"You're the boss now," Sable breathed hesitantly. "Especially since Stan's in the infirmary again."

"He is?" Chris asked. He was surprised Tony had not tracked him down after the incident last night, now that he thought about it.

"Someone clocked him in the dining room," Sable stated, knowingly glancing at Chris. "I had to take his drunk ass over to the medical ward, only find out he's got a concussion and two broken ribs." He added, "I left him in Tony's capable hands, though Mr. Weyland dropped in just before I left."

Chris said nothing for a moment. "I'd be careful if I were you. Yultz and Sanchez might have not known about it before they left this morning, but you can expect they will before they return tonight." Sable warned.

"I can't just let this sort of insubordination go," Chris sighed, waving the datapad.

"Look, you call the shots now," Sable said, leaning back. "But think about this carefully before you do anything rash. Maybe you should wait until he makes a real mistake," Sable argued.

"That's dangerous," Chris countered, "I don't want to wait that long."

"You wouldn't be waiting that long," Sable replied. "Just get him for something better than graffiti. Let him make the first mistake," Sable smirked.

Chris sat back, exhaling deeply. "Well," he admitted. "We did just get here. I've got ten hours to plan my revenge," he smiled back.

Sable nodded, and they shifted their attention to their duties. Sable examined the console as Chris reviewed last night's duty shift. It had been a quiet night overall, and Chris forced himself to skip over Yultz's and Sanchez's nightly banter.

The morning passed slowly. After two hours, Chris excused himself from the office to walk a patrol through the sector. As before, the researchers paused their experiments as Chris came by to inspect their areas briefly. He passed through as quickly as possible to keep from unduly interfering with their work, and his appearance seemed to surprise several of the researchers – at least those who acknowledged his existence as something other than an interruption to their work.

As Chris approached the recessed archway that led into Lab 7, he stopped. He glanced to his right, and down the quiet white corridor, he could clearly see the edge of the enormous structure of Lab 10. Uneasiness passed through him as he felt an unseen presence emanating from down the corridor. He snapped back to the door to Lab 7 as heard subtle whispers emanate from the smaller lab. Cautiously, he moved up to the door and swiped his badge.

The panel flashed red, with a yellow forming on the display panel as a negatory buzz sounded from the access panel drowning out the placid whispers. "Experiment in progress. No entry allowed," A cool, feminine voice sounded a moment later.

The whispers had ceased as Chris recoiled slightly from the smooth voice. The refusal struck him as odd, as he had clearly entered into the other labs while experiments were underway. Unphased, Chris jabbed the intercom button. "This is Security Chief Christopher Frost. Is everything okay in there?"

He released the button and awaited a response. He was greeted with a low hiss that sounded like a mix of escaping steam and a serpent's hiss. Before he could jab the intercom button again, a voice replied, "Everything is fine here, Mr. Frost."

Chris paused, ready to strike the button again and demand details. However, Sable's voice came over his headset. "Chris, you need to come back here. Professor Lendingrass is asking for you."

Chris cursed, letting his fist fall against the door instead of the intercom. "Okay," he stated, pulling himself away from the door. "Tell her I'll be there in a few minutes." As he retreated towards the command center, Chris let his gaze fall back on the lab one last time. He wrapped his hand tighter around his rifle as he felt a distinctly feminine chuckle echo through the corridors.

Chris whirled and pointed his gun at the perceived source. It had come from the corridor that led to Lab 10. He squinted and asked aloud, "Hello? Anyone there?" He waited, stiffly, for several moments, before relaxing. "Sable," he asked, stepping backwards towards the command center, "Is there anyone else wandering around Lab 10?"

"Uh, no," Sable replied nervously.

"Mr. Frost," Lendingrass's voice shouted through his headset. "I need you to return to command _immediately_."

Chris winced more at who had spoken than the loudness of the voice. "Yes ma'am," he sighed, forcing himself to turn away from the labs and return to the command center. He could vaguely the blocky structure from his current position, rising above the maze of lab roofs and catwalks that spanned above him. The normally tinted glass in one section of the white-washed command module had cleared, and he could barely make out Sable seated in the security area, with Lendingrass standing beside him, her hands rolled into fists and firmly placed on her straight hips.

"Shit," Chris breathed, then lowered his head and picked up his pace to return to the command center.


	11. Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

The lunchtime crowd was loud, as scores of feet pattered through the commissary. Chris had found a table near the edge of the room, out of the way of the majority of the traffic. Though the presence of so many was reassuring in many ways, the constant banter made it difficult to think. As his eyes fell away from the crowd and back to the table, he stopped.

Sitting across from him was a dark-skinned woman with thick tresses of midnight black hair. Her eyes were closed as she leaned forward, noisily sipping through a white and red striped straw that was thrust into a milkshake sitting between the two. The milkshake filled a tall, clear glass with a rippled edge. The contents were a vibrant pink, with large slices of strawberry clearly visible within. A large scoop of vanilla ice cream topped the liquid contents, with a spiraled cap of whipped cream and half of a strawberry with a vibrant green calyx still attached. Thrust into the drink was a second straw and a long silver spoon.

"It's very good," she finally said to him, leaning back and opening her eyes, revealing her almond-colored eyes. Her face did not hold any emotion as she gazed at him. After a breath, she stated, "I am Alexis."

Chris froze several seconds, not sure what to say or how to respond. He did not want to provoke a reaction from her, so he waited and observed her. "You are Chris." She stated, pointing at him. Though he did not respond, her mouth twitched slightly as if she were attempting to smile. When it elicited no response from Chris, she glanced down at the table, and Chris dared to look as well. A plate of steaming chicken cacciatore sat in front of her. The glazed, tan chicken seemed to gleam from underneath the creamy red tomato sauce piled atop it. The sight of it made Chris's mouth water. "This is your favorite meal?" she asked, pointing to it.

"Yes," Chris dared to answer.

She smiled. "Would you care to share it?" she asked, pushing it towards him.

Chris leaned slightly forward, and examined it. As he looked at the mouth-watering meal, he felt a strange, but deep pang of hunger sweep through his abdomen, as if he had not eaten for days. "Sure," he said slowly, trying to hide the growing, tightening pangs of hunger in his belly. A strange sensation washed over him as he pulled the plate closer, and he ignored his silverware, grasping one of the pieces of chicken and shoveling it into his mouth. His hands and lips dripped with the red sauce and he chewed contentedly, savoring the rich flavor that seemed to explode in his mouth with each bite.

It took him a moment to realize that with each bite, he was also savagely breaking through crunchy bone. His manners slowly returning his mind, Chris first gazed at the thick, red syrup covering his hands and then again at the meal before him. With dread, he poked at another one of the golden pieces of meat at the plate covered in the creamy red sauce. As it turned from his touch on the plate, Chris blanched as the hunk of meat revealed a human-sized fingernail at one end.

His horrified gaze shot up to Alexis as her own feral grin turned to one of fear as well.

"They know I'm here," she breathed, quickly wiping her crimson-lipped mouth with a white napkin.

The next moment, a panic seemed to seize the nearby crowd. It erupted in screams and both men and women began to scatter in a panic. Chris still sat, horrified by his own actions, unable to move as Alexis began to pull herself away from the table.

A man dressed in company uniform collapsed onto their table, shattering the milkshake and splattering it on Chris and Alexis. As the man writhed on the table, his flailing arms flung the remains of the chicken cacciatore to the floor, revealing several human hands severed at the wrist. As Chris felt frozen and unable to move, he found him unable to take his gaze off the red-stained, six-fingered severed hands flailing about. As the hands cast about on the floor, the severed stumps extruded, becoming a long, whip-like tail. The hands themselves enlarged, becoming as large as a man's head as the skin on them sagged like the puffy rolls of a fat man's neck. A woman nearby screamed, and one of the three mutated hands leaped at her, taking her down by the face. The remaining hands scrambled away into the panicked and screaming crowd.

He only managed to pull his gaze away from the gruesome sight as the man sprawled across his table continued to writhe and scream. As Chris watched, the man's skin and uniform smoked and became blackened ash, as if a fire from within was devouring him. Within seconds, all that remained was a blackened skeleton, which then collapsed into dust and blew away.

Chris finally found the ability to move, and pulled himself clear of the table. However, by then, Alexis was gone and he found himself in a sea of humanity. They pressed and shoved at him, screaming and clawing, doing their best to flee some catastrophe; Chris could not see the source and he pushed back, trying to find a way clear of the panic-washed commissary.

"C'mon Chris," Sable stated as he grasp Chris by the shoulders and shook him, "Snap out of it."

Chris blinked, and took in his surroundings. He was still in the security center; it was only 11:05 AM.

It took a few moments for him to remember that Lendingrass had left two hours ago, after leading him to her office, past a sadly scowling blonde-haired assistant. He had not relished the chewing out she given him out for interrupting several of the staff's experiments with his unnecessary system inspections. When he left, even Lendingrass's overworked assistant seemed to give him an apologetic gaze.

He brought his hands up to stop Sable from shaking him, "I'm awake." He stated, repeating himself. "Sorry, I didn't get a good night's sleep," he explained, "I must have dozed off-"

"You didn't doze off," Sable stated, "You went into some sort of trance. You've been sitting and staring straight ahead for a few minutes at least."

Chris stood. The dream – vision, hallucination, whatever – had faded somewhat, but he could still feel the faint sensation of panic. Ignoring Sable's concerned attempts to get his attention, Chris moved over to the control panel. "We need to check the labs," he stated. "Something's wrong."

Hesitant and concerned, Sable still complied, glancing through the various video feeds as Chris scanned the various systems from the control panel. After a minute of checking, Chris brought a series of gauges up for Lab 7.

"There," he pointed at the rising temperature gauge, which already exceeded 105 degrees. "There's a fire in Lab 7."

Glancing away from the monitors, Sable looked at Chris's findings, "That's impossible," he stated, but found he could not bring up the video feed for Lab 7 to confirm or deny Chris's statement. A moment later, he stated, "Something's wrong, I can't bring up the fire control system for the lab."

"This isn't an accident," Chris stated, not knowing how exactly he knew. He checked the badge swiped into the lab, and it confirmed his suspicion. "There's still someone in there," he said, grabbing his rifle, and heading for the door.

"Kid, don't," Sable warned. "That's a specimen lab!" But Chris was already out the door and making his way to the staircase down to the midlevel.

Chris sprinted through the corridors towards Lab 7. He reached the door before the first hint of doubt began to nag at his mind. In his vision, he had already seen the burning man reduced to ashes. What if he was already too late? Already, he could hear expectant whispering from behind the door, and he could not sense the presence of the lab technician beyond the smoked glass of the lab's windows.

"Chris, don't open that door," Sable's order came from the nearby intercom at the door. Chris then realized he had not put on his headset in the dash out of the door.

"I'm not," Chris said, as Sable's voice had just confirmed his own doubt. "Isn't there a way to manually trigger the fire suppression system from the doorway?"

"Yeah, yeah - there is," Sable remembered. "Enter your security code and 11-"

Sable did not finish before the windows in the command center behind Chris blew out in a fiery explosion. Several of the nearby catwalks groaned against the force, and the wooden conference table ejected from a smoking, fiery hole in the center, bouncing along the roof of a nearby lab before sliding down to midlevel as a burning slab of wood.


	12. Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

"Sable!" Chris yelled into the intercom as the entire sector's lights switched to a bloody red and a dozen alarm systems screamed to life. "Fuck," Chris exclaimed, then forsook Lab 7 and began racing back to the smoking command section.

As he ran past the nearby labs, Chris roared into the intercoms for the lab staff to abandon the sector. He directed the few dazed scientists that emerged to ignore the smoking command section and directed them to the secondary corridor that would take them back out. He did not linger to guide them, but continued to make his way back to the stilted building.

Three of the five stilts that held the command section up still were in place, the whole of the building leaning some fifteen degrees downward and towards the deeper section of the sector. The ladder up to the command station was still mostly intact, though shredded and burning papers covered the steps and nearby area. Chris passed one half-charred body on his way up. Bits of metal and splinters of wood riddled what had not burned on the corpse.

Chris took a moment to take off his uniform shirt and convert it into a mask to protect his mouth and nose. He slung the rifle onto his back, seeing no use for it now. Smoke filled the hallways of the command section, shot through with red light from emergency lighting and the occasional flickering blue exit indicator. Chris made his way to the security center to find the door half-blown in. There was no sign of Sable, and the halls were too misty with smoke for Chris to dare calling out loudly for him. He did take a moment to grab the headset he had forgotten and retrieved a pair of goggles from the nearby closet to protect his eyes.

Two injured staff passed by him as he turned back from the security chamber. "Who's still in here?" he asked them.

"I have no idea," one of the two coughed a response, before pushing past him and towards the exit. Chris ignored the two, and moved down the hall past the flaming conference room and towards the other offices in the command section.

"Sable," Chris called into his headset as he started to check the rooms for survivors, squatting to keep as low as he could as me moved through the hall. As small fires burned around him, Chris wondered why the fire suppression system had not kicked in. Had it been sabotaged like Lab 7?

"Chris?" Sable choked a few moments later over the headset. "Where are you?"

"I'm in command, looking for survivors," Chris stated, "Where are you?"

"I got Lindengrass and a couple others out," Sable coughed. "I'm sending them out of the sector before it locks down."

"Who else is still up here?" Chris asked, moving to the next office.

"Mr. Weyland is still up there somewhere," Sable replied. "And a handful of staff - maybe seven or so."

"I just passed two on their way out," Chris stated, "I'll see if I can find Weyland and the others."

"I'll be back in a minute to help," Sable hacked.

"No," Chris warned, stepping over a pile of filing cabinets that had collapsed together. "You've already got smoke inhalation. See if you can get the other scientists and staff out of the lower labs. I'll worry about command."

"You're going to have the same problem," Sable warned with a cough.

"I'll be out long before then," Chris stated. He paused a moment as he heard someone nearby moan and the sound of metal shifting. Carefully making his way over, he could make out the shadow of someone near an overturned metal desk. Only when he was within a foot or two could he make out whom it was.

"Mr. Weyland," Chris called out, moving to his friend pinned beneath the heavy metal desk. There was a splatter of blood on Michael's lips, but he managed to hold his head up to greet Chris.

"I think I've cracked a rib," Michael wheezed before stuffing his face back into his business jacket, indicating where the edge of the desk held him to the smoldering floor.

"I'll get you out," Chris stated, glancing at the desk. With a heave, he easily cast the desk off Michael, who rolled away to one side once it was off him. As Chris returned to his side, he asked, "Can you walk?"

"I - I think so," Michael nodded, though Chris could see him grimace. Chris helped him up, moving slowly but at the same time as quickly as he dared. Still somewhat hunched, Chris lead Michael back out into the hall. The fire was beginning to spread from the conference room into the hall, but there was still a narrow passage through the flames to safety. He saw no others in the hall as he quickly passed by several other rooms on their way out, but his focus was on getting Michael out of danger and away from the smoke that made him cough and aggravate his wounded side.

Once Chris had cleared the command center and brought Michael down the staircase into the cleaner air, he propped Michael against a rail and stated, "I'm going back for any others."

"No, Chris - don't leave," Michael protested, coughing and fighting to stand. "I can't make it out without your help."

Chris shot a glance back into the smoking command section, but finally turned away. He carefully supported Michael and dragged the man down the stairs and toward the exit to the sector. They had just reached the midlevel when a deafening explosion rocked the sector once again. Down the corridor, Chris saw a fireball and plume of smoke reach upwards and curl across the distant ceiling. "Get us out of here," Michael coughed. Chris did not argue, and instead hauled Michael towards the exit.

At the airlock, he found Sable returning with a throng of staff. Chris passed Michael off to the smoke-stained Sable. He was a little surprised to see that other than a good coating of soot on his uniform, the man was unhurt. "Lab 5 just blew up," Sable commented. "This thing is out of control."

"We can't lose Lab 10," Michael strained. "Someone needs to manually activate the fire suppression system," he coughed, "in the command center."

"We're past that," Sable said.

"There's still others in the command section possibly," Chris replied. "I can look for them and activate the suppression system."

"Don't try to be a hero," Sable started.

"Let him go," Michael coughed, "He's head of security. It's his call."

Sable eyed Chris, silently urging him not to head back to the command center. Behind the group, the airlock opened, and the panicked crowd of scientists flooded into the small room. At Michael's urging, Sable backed away from Chris and took the wounded man with him.

"I hope you know what the hell you're doing," Sable stated.

Chris nodded, then asked Michael, "Where are the manual controls for the fire suppression system?"

Michael pointed to a stack of pipes extending out of the top of the command center. Several of the pipes he indicated leaned at an odd angle to the command center, but they appeared to all be intact. "They're among that electrical stack," he indicated, wincing from stretching his arm, and giving a bloody cough.

Chris dallied no longer, but turned away from the airlock, dashing back towards the still-smoking command center. As he reached the steel staircase leading up, he readjusted his goggles and replaced his soot-stained shirt over his mouth and nose. By the time he reached the inside of the command center, not only was black smoke roiling out of the shattered windows, but fire now roared in the hall, blocking the passage beyond the devastated conference room. With the blazing fire blocking his way, there was no way he could search the remainder of the command section for other survivors.

The security center was still available to him, and he made his way there first. Once in the smoke-filled room, he made his way to the blown-out window and carefully clambered atop one of the flickering panels. The roiling smoke made it impossible to see upwards, but he blindly fumbled along the outside edge above the chamber until he encountered a metal conduit the protruded just above the window. He used the pipes to pull himself up and out of the command section, then up to the roof, less than a half meter further up.

He rolled onto the roof and found that it was already warm to the touch. Carefully getting to his feet, he made his way over to the mass of pipes Michael had indicated earlier. Though the smoke roiling from below lightly obscured his vision atop the command center, he could easily navigate to them, homing in on the reflective red strips that had been attached to them.

Within a meter from the pipes, a section of the nearby roof made a loud, creaking sound before the rivets holding it in place popped. Tendrils of fire suddenly lapped at the edges, as if a vast hand had grasp the edge of the plating and was attempting to tear it away.

"Shit," Chris mouthed as he watched black smoke begin to pour upwards through the flames. Doing his best to ignore the rising heat and growing sounds of creaking metal beneath him, he examined the pipes for the manual fire suppression control.

He quickly found it – a manual entry pad with a glass case seated adjacent to the panel. In a recess was a red handle, marked with the words _Pump to Prime._ Wasting no time, Chris entered his security code into the access panel. There was a momentary pause, and then the glass panel flipped open, revealing access to the handle beyond.

Chris seized the handle and operated it as quickly as he could. A blast of white vapor began to vent from the ceiling, and the flames licking at the nearby crumpled panel began to recede. He leaned his head against the pipes in relief as he could hear the fire sizzle and begin to die, the black smoke slowly replaced with white vapor. Before he could withdraw from his position though, he heard above the creaking metal beneath his feet a feral, savage growl.

Glancing upwards, he found himself confronting a tall, black-suited biped creature grasping the strands of pipes above his head. Its odd form was barely discernable from the pipes themselves. Its long, whitish head was somewhat translucent, and beneath the suit-like dome, he could only just make out a skull-like face grinning at him. The creature had a long, segmented tail that reached up behind it and was wrapped about the piping above, allowing it to dangle downwards to reach for him with double-fingered hands that ended in nails that looked as if they were made of steel.

Chris pulled back from the handle and reached for the rifle on his back. As he did, the creature again hissed, opening wide jaws lined with steel-like tendons and revealing a multitude of teeth that looked like glass shards.

Smoke rippled from the creature's mouth as it hissed at him, _"I am the Dragon."_

As the rifle came into Chris's hands, the creature descended upon him, seeming to fall from the pipes onto him. The weakened roof around Chris cracked from the weight of the two, dropping them in the still-live inferno, casting up writhing black and white smoke as red-hot embers drifted upwards out of the hole.


	13. Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12

Chris awoke again with a start. Yet this time, as his eyes adjusted to the room around him, he realized he was in the medical ward. A nurse stood at the side of his bed, lightly touching him on the shoulder.

"Are you okay?" she asked, as Chris took several deep breaths, trying to sort out his memories from the dream he had just awaken from.

He remembered returning to the command center and climbing the roof to manually activate the fire control system. As it had gone off, he had heard someone calling from help in the command center. Chris remembered making his way to one of the other windows near where he had heard the pleas for help. There, a young lady leaned out of the building, trying to keep the smoke from overcoming her as it poured out of the building. As Chris lowered himself to help her, he saw she had already suffered some burns on one of her arms, and it had driven her into a panic. The fire in the room was dying to the suppression mist, but it was still strong enough to menace her. She had reached out, grabbing at him, begging him to save her from the fire. It had made him lose his grip, and the two had fallen to the midlevel below.

"Silvia – where is Silvia?" Chris asked, slowly sitting up. His head was still throbbing.

"The young lady you saved?" the nurse smiled. "She's in medbay 3, recovering. She broke her leg in the fall."

"And it's a damn good thing Sable stayed behind to keep an eye on you," came Tony's voice as the tall man moved up beside the nurse.

"I assume he dragged me out of there?" Chris asked.

"No," Tony shook his head. "I did. The both of you. I sent Sable here to medical with Weyland. You're lucky you only got a mild concussion from that whole affair. We lost three people in that fiasco."

"How is Michael doing?" Chris asked. His mouth was dry, and he felt like he had swallowed a spoonful of ash.

"Mr. Weyland will be fine in a day or two," Tony replied. "The rib will take the longest to heal, but the autodoc is working on it. It should be mended enough that he'll be released by tomorrow morning," he nodded to the nurse, "I'm sure you're anxious to have him out of your hair." The nurse gave Tony a knowing look, but said nothing.

Chris nodded, then he stated quietly, "Tony, we need to talk – alone for a moment. It's about the incident."

Tony glanced at the nurse, who excused herself. Once the two were alone, Tony was the first to speak. "Well, what's on your mind?" He asked, crossing his massive arms across his chest.

"I think something in Lab 7 may have started the fire – or escaped from it," Chris stated lowly. "Something dangerous – predatory."

"What gives you that idea?" Tony asked carefully.

"When I was operating the fire control system," Chris stated, concentrating his thoughts, "I thought I saw something in the smoke – like it lived in it." Chris's memory of the actual event was distinctly different from the dream – he had only seen the black shape up near the roof out of the corner of his eye. At the time, he had dismissed it as a trick of the light and fire, but the dream made him realize, in detail, exactly what he had seen before it had scuttled away into the smoke-filled ceiling.

Tony analyzed Chris, brushing his thick mustache as he thought. After moment, Tony gave a slight sigh. "Lab 7 - which had some specimens in it - did blow up, along with Lab 5," Tony stated quietly. "But our preliminary investigation shows that the contents were vaporized in the explosion."

"Vaporized?" Chris said with a furrowed eyebrow. "Meaning no trace was left."

Tony shook his head negatively, "Enough trace material left to indicate it had been in the lab at the time," he replied. "It's definitely worth having them take a second look. But if it did escape the blast somehow, nothing has breached the sector."

"Mr. Richards," Chris stated, "Someone did some deliberate sabotage in there. Cameras were down in the lab, someone disabled the fire suppression system – how can you be sure it didn't get out? Someone could have blinded sensors, maybe rigged them to give false readings."

Tony shifted uncomfortably; he glanced around the room for a moment, and then said in a low voice, "Frost, I think we have a corporate spy in the facility." He breathed.

"This isn't the first incident then?" Chris asked.

"There have been other incidents – breeches in security." Tony admitted. "Up until now, they have been only minor nuisances, as easily attributed to neglect as to malice. Part of the reason I let Michael talk me into keeping you on was the hope you might ferret something out. You are, after all, a trouble magnet."

"What other incidents?" Chris questioned.

"I can't discuss it." Tony shrugged.

"How long do you think this spy – or saboteur - has been here?" Chris asked.

"Most likely, since the last rotation – three months," Tony stated.

"When all of us mercenaries came aboard," Chris mused.

"Yes," Tony hissed.

"What changed?" Chris asked.

"They were clearly targeting Mr. Weyland," Tony stated. "A bomb was apparently in the conference room. Michael had a meeting scheduled for 11 AM, but luckily moved it to 10 AM, so the room was mostly clear when it went off."

"So the bomb was on a timer?" Chris mused. "That also means whoever set it wasn't around to change the timer when it went off," Chris deducted.

"Exactly," Tony nodded. "That rules out most of the staff present in the command center itself. If they had access to the conference room, they could have changed the timing to make it go off when the meeting was re-arranged for earlier."

"Also probably means the bomb was hidden somewhere in the room, if no one noticed or found it during the meeting," Chris added.

"True," Tony agreed. "Look," Tony stated, "I don't trust most of the other mercenaries in this investigation," Tony admitted. "I want you on this. Help me find out who put this bomb in place – and my guess it'll also be the spy I've been looking for."

"What about that specimen from Lab 7?" Chris asked.

"That thing's still a classified project. I'll let the investigative staff know what you've said, but you'll have to leave them to investigate it, got it?" Tony warned.

"Yessir," Chris stated non-plussed. "Do you have any leads on who might be behind this?" Chris asked.

"It's evidently someone who has access to Sector 10, so that narrows the list down a good bit. They also had to have access to the command center, so we're looking at eight to ten regular staff."

Chris sat up, sliding his feet off the bed. "The computer automatically makes a record of the day's activities?" Chris asked rhetorically. "Where can I access those logs?"

"Well, your station in Sector 10 is unusable – and the entire area's been locked down until the mess is cleaned up, " Tony thought aloud, "That would mean the only secure place left would be from central command, on the fifth floor," Tony stated. "You're not cleared for it though," Tony warned, "nor most of the logs. There'd be gaps too big – and just too much data overall – to go through, even for a day."

"All I need is this morning's logs," Chris stated. "Michael's only been here two days, and my guess is that those two – maybe three - bombs were built yesterday and planted this morning. If I can find someone who accessed all three buildings that morning, it should give me a pretty small list to comb through." As Tony glowered at Chris, his arms folded on his chest, Chris added, "And if I can't access them directly, maybe someone who does have access can check them for me?"

"Frost, those logs hadn't downloaded to the main core before the fire broke out," Tony replied. "I'm afraid the data's been lost – and I don't think that was accidental."

"Someone trying to cover their tracks?" Chris mused.

"And if they figure out you're on to them," Tony warned, "I imagine they'll try to rub you out too. So watch your back."


	14. Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13

Chris stood in front of Tony's metal desk, flipping back and forth on the electronic pages of the datapad Tony had brought to him. "Mr. Richards," Chris asked, "Didn't you tell me there were three killed in the blast yesterday?" Chris scowled at the names - Paul Reynolds, Steven Piper, Abain Arguilla - but he refrained from commenting.

"Yes," Tony replied, looking over Chris's shoulder. "And that's a list of the casualties taken to medlab for smoke inhalation and other injuries." He pointed to the second page Chris flipped between, "Why?"

"Daniel Donaldson isn't on either list," Chris noted. "I met him my first night in Sector 10. He has a cubicle in the room adjacent to the conference room. If he was in his office when the blast went off, I would have expected him to be listed among the dead – or at least, seriously injured."

"No," Tony replied, "He doesn't have a cube there. He's professor Lendingrass's assistant. His cube is down the hall, preceding Lendingrass's office. Normally, Silvia Jones – the clerk you rescued - works the cube by the conference room."

"Really?" Chris intoned, intrigued. "Daniel is forgetful Lendingrass's assistant? Who keeps missing her badge?" he asked Tony. "And I wonder why Silvia wasn't in her cube when the blast occurred?"

"Well now," Tony thought, "That is a bit odd."

"It seems unlikely Silvia would be our bomber," Chris thought aloud. "If her target was Michael, and she was in the building when it did go off, why didn't she reset it for earlier?" Chris then remembered, "Wait – I was in Lendingrass's office yesterday. As I was being herded into the professor's office, I remember passing Silvia in the cube outside."

"Like she was filling in?" Tony asked.

"Yes," Chris stated. "We should check to see if Donaldson wasn't there that morning."

"We'll have to check with Miss Jones or Professor Lendingrass to verify," Tony stated. "As I told you yesterday, we lost the day's records for Sector 10 with the blast."

"Which is awfully damn convenient," Chris replied. "If it's all the same, I'd rather check with Miss Jones. I don't trust Lendingrass's memory."

"Unfortunately," Tony replied, "protocol doesn't agree with you. Check with Lendingrass first. I don't want to run the risk of Miss Jones somehow tipping Donaldson off that we're investigating him."

Chris sighed, "Well, can we just dial her up and ask her from here?"

Tony nodded, and moved back around his desk to take a seat in front of his vidphone. Chris remained on the other side, leaning on the desk out of sight of the vidphone's camera. Tony inputted the professor's number to her quarters, and the two waited for several seconds for a pickup. The vidphone continued to chime, but no one answered.

"That's odd," Tony replied, "It's telling me her quarters are occupied, but no one's answering." He stated, tapping a green _recipient present_ indicator on the phone.

Chris let out a deep breath. "Maybe I should go investigate?" he offered with a frown.

"I think you better," Tony nodded. As Chris turned, he warned, "Take your sidearm – just in case." Chris nodded affirmatively, and checked his sidearm. Ever since Tony's comment late yesterday, he had kept the black M4A3 pistol in a holster on his side.

"You'll find her quarters in Sector 2, room 256," Tony stated. He tapped the keypad on the vidphone and a slot ejected a plastic card, which he handed to Chris. "This should override the door," he stated with a grimace. "Use it wisely."

Chris took the card somewhat hesitantly, and then slipped out of Tony's office and down the hall. Utilizing the speed rails in the main corridors, he was at Lindengrass's quarters within five minutes. He missed the fast-moving conveyors in North Sector, where they had long been shut down and rendered non-functional.

As he came upon room 256, Chris could faintly hear noise from inside. Chris moved to the right side of the doorway, drawing his pistol into his main left hand while bringing up the white card in his right.

"Professor Lindengrass?" He called aloud to the door. He could still hear a faint grunting from within, which climaxed with a woman's scream. Chris gritted his teeth, punched in his security code and slid the white access card into the access slot.

The door cycled open, and Chris brought his pistol up. However, what he saw inside made him blanch.

Lendingrass lay sprawled on the bed that filled half the room, screaming wildly. Atop her was a man nearly as thin as her, which Chris recognized immediately.

"Nicholas?!" Chris asked, pulling his pistol to point towards the ceiling.

At Chris's voice, Lindengrass turned and gave a different sort of scream. Grasping the sheets of her bed, she covered her bare, flattened chest and screeched, "Frost?! What the hell are you doing?" She slapped at Nicholas, indicating the man to get off her. Nonchalantly rolling his eyes, but a malicious grin still on his face as he cast his gaze at Chris, he complied.

With Lindengrass's harsh gaze and Nicholas's leer focused on him, Chris finally was able to compose himself enough to look aside. "I'm sorry professor," He tried to explain. "Mr. Richards sent me here when we couldn't get you to respond on the vidphone."

"And it didn't cross you mind that I might be busy - or indisposed?" she barked back, as Nicholas reached for his pants on the far side of the bed. Chris continued to look away, and Lindengrass laid a hand on the emaciated Nicholas's arm, giving him a longing look. He stopped dressing, and listened to the unfolding conversation.

"Sorry, no," Chris admitted in a regretful tone.

"Well, you can leave now and I'll have a talk with Mr. Richards about this incident later," she scolded.

"Wait," Chris pleaded, looking back to Lindengrass, who again hefted the sheets to cover her naked body. "I need to ask you a staff question first."

"Make it quick," she hissed, the venom thick on her lips.

"I will," Chris nodded, "Daniel Donaldson - was he in the office yesterday morning - before the explosion?"

Lindengrass scowled at the question, "Did you break into my room just to ask me such a silly question?" She breathed, incredulous.

"Sorry, but yes," Chris admitted.

"He took a sick day," she said plainly. She then motioned for him to leave. Chris bowed, and complied, closing the door on his way out. Once it closed, he leaned against it and sighed heavily. With his back against the door, he heard a nervous giggling from inside. Not desiring to think on or hear more, he quickly made his way back to Tony's office.


	15. Chapter 14

CHAPTER 14

When Chris returned to Tony's office, he found it vacant, though Tony's prerecorded voice asked him wait for his return. Running his hands through his hair, Chris located the datapad he had been reviewing earlier, and took a seat in one of the simple black chairs to the left of the desk. He flipped to the page of the deceased and stared at the harsh green letters on the black background.

_Abain Arguilla_. Chris assumed that was the half-charred individual he had found on the steps of the staircase leading up to the command center. It saddened him to know that Michael's assistant had been a victim in the explosion in the command center.

_Paul Reynolds, Steven Piper._ Chris scowled at the names. Sable had told him that Lendingrass had permanently transferred them to another sector. Curious, he clicked Paul's name, bringing him to the man's personnel record. He scanned the mostly forgettable information and noticed a list of security clearances at the bottom. One in particular caught his eye. _Clearance - Level 1. Experiment 702. Sector 10, Lab 7. Authorization Approval: prof. A. Lendingrass._

Curious, Chris flicked back and checked Steven Piper's log as well, to find him cleared for the same item. He also then realized the two had an additional item shared between their record. _Clearance - Level 2. Experiment 701. Sector 10, Lab 10. Security Revoked. Authorization Approval: prof. A. Lendingrass. Revoking Authorization: M. Weyland._ The date for the security revocation was two days ago, when Chris had first been assigned to the sector - and the day the two had seemingly vanished.

A long, red fingernail tapped the cold glass covering the datapad as a silken voice called out, "Alexis." It startled Chris, causing him to drop the datapad as he reached for his pistol.

Standing to his side was a familiar lithe, deeply tanned beauty. She wore a dark, almost midnight blue dress that stopped shy of her knees. Stiletto-heeled black boots covered most of the rest of her legs. Her almond eyes bore into him, and her thick, raven-colored hair was fashioned in a broad oval that flattened near her shoulders. Her ruby lips parted to reveal startling white teeth.

"Good," she stated, drawing out the word. "You're armed." As Chris stopped to examine the half-drawn pistol, she placed a cool hand on his own. "They know I'm here. They are coming for me."

"Who are you?" Chris asked warily.

She cocked her head slightly, as if hurt he did not recognize her. "I am Alexis," she said proudly. "You are Chris," she continued, using her free hand to point a blood-red nail at his chest.

"You are different than the others," she noted, slowly shifting her head from one side to the other as she regarded him.

"In what way?" Chris asked, sitting up.

"They are weak," she snidely replied, moving forward and settling herself into his lap. She let her other hand playfully caress his cheek as she said, "Soft," she stated wistfully, and then hardened her gaze, "Both mentally and physically."

"I'm a warrior," he stated reflexively, not knowing why, "I've fought in wars, and I've killed...several."

"I know," Alexis cooed. "There are others here who have done so," she sighed, "But they regret it." She stopped stroking him. "You don't."

"Why should I regret it?" Chris asked, "It was either them or me."

Her casual admiration of him changed to a knowing rebuff. "You enjoyed it," she revealed.

Chris felt his stomach catch in his throat. He could admit to himself at times in the past he had enjoyed the struggle, the rush of adrenaline as he flung himself into harm's way. But the killing? No, he realized, he only killed when it was necessary.

"They're coming for me, Chris," Alexis stated, leaning forward until their foreheads lay against one another. "Find me. Come to me," she locked her deep, almond eyes with his, "I will unlock your potential. I will give you what you need to stop them. Then we can be together," she whispered, "forever."

"I'm dreaming this," Chris stated, taking a moment to close his eyes.

"Yes," he heard her state soothingly. "You are." He suddenly felt her painfully thrust her painted nail in his chest, digging towards his heart. "Wake up," she hissed into his ear.

Chris awoke with a start. He was half-slumped in his chair, with Tony standing over him, scowling and the datapad in his hand. Chris's jaw and back ached, and he gave a small grunt as he pulled himself back up to a seated position. Before Chris could speak, Tony grabbed Chris by his uniform and hauled him to his feet.

"I thought I could trust you," Tony snarled, shaking the datapad at Chris.

"What?" Chris asked, confused. He grasped at Tony, trying to free himself from the larger man's grasp, but it was like iron.

Tony cast Chris back into the black chair, but not before removing Chris's sidearm. "You read the damn files," He stated, backing up.

Memories started to flood back into Chris's mind. He had been investigating the data on the pad. He had clicked on the link that led to Experiment 701's file, to be met with a login and password prompt. In two guesses, Chris had correctly guessed professor Lendingrass's pathetic password. The screen on the pad had gone black, to reveal a page thick with green text and a murky black image at the bottom of the page. Before he had been able to make sense of the image, he had heard the door to Tony's office open. He had tried to hide the datapad as Tony entered the room. However, Tony, with a surprising agility and strength for his size had seized it from him. Chris had tried to plead his case, but the next moment, before he could say a word, Tony had clocked him. The two had fought, tooth and nail, but Tony had surprised Chris with his ferocity, until he had driven the smaller, younger man into the chair and stunned him. He could have only been out a second or two, but in that blink of an eye, the vision had come to him.

"Tony, it's not what you think," Chris tried to explain again.

Tony held up a hand to silence Chris. "You didn't go to Lendigrass to talk to her about Donaldson. You went there to get her password. Why Chris?" Tony snarled, "Why did you plant the bombs?"

"What?" Chris asked, leaning forward in the black chair.

"I warned Michael you were unstable," Tony spat. "Could you just not take that he'd cast you aside like the others?" He seethed.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Chris stated, rising from the chair slowly.

"It wasn't an accident that the bomb went off at the wrong time," Tony stated, casting Chris's pistol onto the metal desk. "You deliberately let it go off late, so you could make a show of rescuing Michael. Get back into his good graces," Tony declared.

"I don't know what's gotten into you," Chris stated, "But you've got it all wrong. After talking with Lendingrass, I'm pretty sure the culprit is Daniel Donaldson."

"Bullshit," Tony shouted as he threw the datapad to the ground, and he rushed Chris.

Now that Chris had a sense of Tony's speed and strength, he found himself adjusting to compensate. He cast the chair in the onrushing giant's way, causing the huge man to stumble. While he was off-balance, Chris moved in from the side and delivered a devastating uppercut to the man's jaw.

Tony barely flinched, and cast the chair aside, crumpling the armrests as he did. He grabbed with both hands at Chris, but the smaller man used his size to tuck and roll away, coming up beside the metal desk. Tony whirled, but Chris seized the gun and turned back, pointing it at Tony.

The huge man did not falter, but instead rushed Chris, his massive fist leading a savage punch. Chris dodged aside, matching the man's speed. He used the gun's handle as a club, bringing it into Tony's ribs. The man gave a slight huff, but came around the blow seemingly unphased. Before Chris could duck away, again Tony brought his left fist across catching the smaller man on the jaw and sending him spinning to the floor.

The gun scattered from Chris's hand as he hit the floor. Dazed by the blow, Chris could not manage to move aside in time before Tony brought a booted heel onto the back of Chris's neck.

"I told Michael to watch his back, that you were a loose cannon," He seethed through gritted teeth. "But he wouldn't ever listen," He forcefully leaned his weight on Chris, causing the blonde to grunt from the pain.

"Tony," Chris gurgled, trying to push himself free, "I never ... betrayed Michael."

"No more lies," Tony growled, stamping down again. Chris started to feel blackness creeping in on the edge of his sight as he continued to struggle.


	16. Chapter 15

CHAPTER 15

Chris managed to swallow, and then with all his might, he grabbed at the leg Tony used to hold him down. With his other hand, he grabbed the nearby fallen datapad. The glass display had cracked, and Chris seized a large pane of glass. He leveraged Tony so he could twist his body, and then raked the glass across Tony's calf muscle. The huge man howled, and fell back, grasping at the wound.

Chris pulled free and managed to lurch to his feet. As he stood, panting and gazing at the wounded Tony, he froze.

Blood ran from the wound, but exposed cables and wires were visible beneath the torn flesh. "You're an android," Chris breathed.

Tony's lip curled into a snarl as he supported himself on the remaining black chair near the door. "Not just any android," he replied. "Before you, I was Michael's dream. The Maya project. A perfect synthetic, indistinguishable from a human. Real flesh. Carbon fiber bones with real marrow that produced a replenishable supply of hemoglobic blood. I was even gifted with a semi-organic brain and organs. I was his pride and joy. A prototype, first of what should have been an entire race." Tony leaned against the remaining black chair. "Then you came, and I was discarded to this facility like yesterday's newspaper," he paused, and then added, "Only to have him dump you in my lap. He wanted me to care for you, to train you – to give you succor." He spat again, "Then I discover you betraying him."

"I did not," Chris protested, carefully picking the gun up off the ground.

"So, are you going to kill me to cover this up?" Tony asked as Chris aimed the gun at Tony. However, Chris did not pull the trigger, but he kept the gun leveled at the injured synthetic. "I doubt those bullets could pierce my chassis." Tony mused.

"I'm not trying to cover anything," Chris replied. "I did not plant those bombs. All I wanted to know is why someone told me two researchers were transferred to another sector, only to end up dead in Sector 10."

Tony blinked, and then nodded silently, as if he suddenly understood and was prepared to explain. The next moment though, he seized the chair he had been leaning against and hurled it across the room. Chris managed to avoid the object, but Tony used the distraction to hurl himself at Chris.

Chris fired only twice. The first bullet struck Tony in the left eye, while the second hit him squarely in the chest. Tony came to a halt just in front of Chris, collapsing to his knees a mere foot away. He gave a straining grunt, but collapsed on his side. The body twitched a moment, and Tony mouthed, "Gross motor control has been disabled … power generator compromised." With his good eye, he managed to look up to Chris. "How – how did you know where to hit?"

Chris lowered his gun, and dropped to one knee so he could speak to the fading Tony eye to eye. "In my second campaign on Mercedes III," he stated, licking his lips, "The rebels there were reprogramming A2 series synthetics to fight for them," he paused, "I was assigned to a squad to take them out. There were forty of them, five of us," he continued, "I memorized every component, and I was the only one who made it back."

Tony managed a bloody smile, but could not hold it long as his system dimmed, "He taught you well," he managed to mouth, before he completely ceased moving. Chris remained a moment later, silently gazing at the motionless android. His mind swirled with thoughts and emotions. Finally, he sheathed his pistol and rose.

Chris's gaze fell on the discarded datapad on the floor. He bent down to retrieve it, but noted the shattered display was unusable. "Damn," he commented, tossing it onto the desk. He had only had a moment's glance at the tablet, but it was enough time that several phrases he had seen stuck in his mind. Experiment 701 and 702 were related, and both were classified as extreme biohazards. Another word amid the green text had stood out – the word was _dragon._

A buzz from the door's digital chime interrupted Chris's thoughts. Chris gazed down at the bleeding form on the floor and inhaled sharply. Placing his hand on his pistol and backing up to brush against Tony's plain metal desk, he breathed, "Who is it?"

"It's Sable," a voice rang from the intercom. "Tony called for me. Is he in?"

Chris glanced down to Tony's inert body and cursed under his breath. "One moment," Chris stated, making his way to the door. He paused at the access panel and breathed, "Sable, I have to warn you, what you're about see isn't pretty." The next moment, he slid the door open.

Sable had half drawn up his rifle when he saw Tony sprawled on the floor in a pool of blood, with Chris standing near the door. His face scrunched in shock as he stated, "What the hell?"

"Tony's an android," Chris remarked, nodding to the exposed cables that protruded from the back of the body's severed calf.

"Son of a bitch," Sable mouthed, slowly entering the room, but keeping his rifle aimed at Chris. Keeping one eye on Chris, he bent down and briefly examined Tony. "Did you do this?" Sable asked, turning to look at Chris.

"Yes," Chris sighed. "I was just returning from investigating Daniel Donaldson as a possible corporate spy when he lashed out at me. He tried to kill me," Chris stated, pointing to his slightly bruised neck.

Sable frowned, and rose. He carefully moved over to Chris, holding the bullpup rifle up. "Your sidearm," Sable stated, indicating the weapon on Chris's side, "hand it over."

Chris bowed his head, and slowly reached down. He unbuttoned the holster to begin drawing the weapon out. Then, before Sable could react, Chris brought his elbow up as he used his other hand to push the rifle aside. Chris's elbow caught Sable in the throat, and he reflexively dropped the rifle to grasp at the strike, gasping for air. Chris fluidly followed through, bringing a knee up into Sable's abdomen and doubling the man over. Then, with a double-handed swing, Chris clubbed the back of Sable's neck, flattening his target on the ground.

Sable gave a faint groan as Chris kneeled beside him. Before the well-toned black man could gather his senses, Chris struck him in the nerve cluster in his neck. Sable convulsed as if struck by lightning, then collapsed, unconscious.

Chris hovered over Sable a moment, checking the man's vitals. "Sorry, Sable," Chris stated. "I need some time to get this straightened out," he explained.

A chill ran down Chris's spine and he glanced up, out through the dark-tinted windows that flanked Tony's office. To the right of the doorway, in the hall, Chris could see the raven-haired beauty, Alexis, gazing at him. Her head was cocked downward, her almond-eyed gaze locked onto him. She smiled darkly, her crimson lips parting slightly to show her stark white teeth. As Chris slowly rose, she turned and walked towards the door. Chris swiftly moved over to the door and opened it – to find the hallway empty. He did not dare to close his eyes as he stepped into the hall, his gun drawn and pulled up.

_Now I'm having waking nightmares_, he thought to himself. With the hall completely clear, he took a moment to close his eyes and center himself. _Am I dreaming this?_ He asked himself.

He felt the gun being inexorably being pushed down, softly but surely. His eyes snapped open to find the lithe darkly tanned woman standing before him. Her red-tipped hands were pushing the gun down as she regarded him carefully.

"You have always been dreaming, Chris," she spoke softly. "Find me, and I can awaken you."

"Why are you doing this to me?" Chris asked as she stepped closer, bringing her one hand along the side of his head to drawl through his blonde hair. She softly skimmed the other hand along his arms and up to his chest.

"I want to make you beautiful," She stated in a silken voice as she leaned towards him. He felt fear wash over him, his body unable to move or resist her caress. Her hand was over his heart, and as it frantically pumped, he could already feel her fingers dig into his flesh.

"You're going to kill me," he stammered.

"Yes," she breathed. "To make you blossom, I am."


	17. Chapter 16

CHAPTER 16

"Daniel Donaldson, you're under arrest," Chris said aloud as he swung into the room, his pistol held outward. The interior was gloomy and quiet, bathed in a soft, blue light.

The room was arranged like Lendingrass's, with a bed to one side and an open area on the other. Indented glass shelves lined the gray walls, sloppily filled with various mechanical knickknacks. Unlike Lendingrass's quarters, a large faux wood desk and attached shelving dominated the center of the room, stretching from the floor to within a few inches of the recessed fluorescent lighting above. There was a portable terminal set up at the desk, and like the shelving around the room, half-assembled mechanical objects and a few thick, aged paper technical books were on the shelves above the active terminal.

An executive chair, covered in black leather, slowly swung beside the desk, as if moments ago someone had just risen from it. However, other than the faint whirring sound of the portable terminal's fan, the room was quiet and appeared empty.

Chris glowered. Before he had used the security card Tony had given him earlier, he had checked the access panel and noted that it indicated the apartment was occupied. The overweight Donaldson did not strike Chris as being agile enough to have left the swinging chair and have time to hide between the time he had overridden the door controls with a loud beep, and the doors had opened.

"Donaldson," Chris announced as he carefully stepped towards the right, uncluttered side of the room. "I know you're in here." He tried to glance into the open doorway of bathroom at the far side of the room, behind the bed, but it was too dark to see within.

"You'll have to try harder if you want to catch me," a somewhat distorted voice rang out from the portable terminal. Chris swung to look at it, to see Donaldson's pixelated face filling most of the monitor.

"However, before you turn me in, why don't you find out why I'm doing this?" he asked.

Chris frowned. "I don't care," he stated, examining the background in the image, trying to discern where Donaldson was. It looked like an office, but Chris could not see any room or sector designation, "You've killed three people and injured a dozen more."

"Piper, Reynolds and Arguilla?" Donaldson sneered. "I didn't kill them. The company did that."

Chris slowly advanced towards the terminal. He continued to glance about, suspicious that the access panel had indicated someone was in the room. He could faintly feel their presence, but could see no one present.

"I'm going to give you an opportunity to uncover the truth as well," Donaldson sneered.

"What truth?" Chris retorted.

"That Michael Weyland is a monster who needs to be stopped," Donaldson stated.

"Whatever you're smoking, I don't want any," Chris stated sarcastically.

"You seem to at least want to know how Piper and Reynolds died," Donaldson surmised. "Otherwise you wouldn't have broken into the file on Experiment 701 from Piper's record," He explained.

Chris paused for a second, and Donaldson seized upon his hesitation. "Right now, all the evidence for Tony's so-called death points to you, and with it, the suspicion that you started the fire in Sector 10. Anything you might say about me is circumstantial at best."

"You're going to frame me for this?" Chris asked.

"No, but I can help get you out of here, and do some good along the way," seeing Chris hesitate, he added, "Either way I'll be gone soon. The question you need to ask yourself is do you think you have a chance of clearing your name of _everything_?"

From the shadows on Chris's right, a female figure slid into view. Dark and winsome in the soft blue light, she smiled at Chris. Too stunned to speak, Chris let the dark-skinned Alexis slide beside him, a hair's breadth away. Alexis's words rang with uncanny power as she whispered at his ear. "Do what you must to survive. Do what you must to reach me, before they come."

"What do you want from me?" Chris asked somberly.

"Meet me in Sector 10," Donaldson stated, snapping Chris's attention back to the screen. The man seemed oblivious to Alexis's presence. "And make sure you're alone, because I am watching. This nightmare ends today." With those words, the image of Donaldson shuttered on the terminal, leaving a blank black display with a single blinking green cursor.

Chris holstered his gun and typed a few routine commands in, hoping he might be able to reestablish the connection to learn more. However, Donaldson had severed whatever connection Donaldson had made to the portable terminal, and the logs had been erased.

Alexis leaned against the table on Chris's right. Her sultry, almond eyes regarded him cooly. "You shouldn't linger here. Time is running short."

Chris said nothing, but stepped away from the portable terminal. He stepped outside the room, over the limp body of Yultz that lay to the one side of the door. The mercenary's chest was ripped open, and a bloody smear ran down the wall from where he must have been standing to where he now lay. Chris had found the man outside the room, already gutted. He was not sure what had killed him, but it had enough force to puncture the ballistic vest as if it had been mere cloth. The hole in his chest was bored straight into his heart, and Chris felt a twang of sympathetic pain in his own chest whenever he gazed at it.

Alexis had been waiting for him there when he had arrived at Donaldson's room, examining the gore that drenched a red-nailed finger. As Chris now watched, Alexis came out of the room and paused at the fallen figure. She placed her hand on the malformed man's head, marveling at the short black hairs on his head. "You see so strangely," she commented. "So much unnecessary detail," she commented, lightly turning the man's face from one side to another.

"Why did you kill him?" Chris asked as he looked at the man's corpse, illuminated by the single light outside the door. The rest of the lights in the corridor flickered with the same blue light that had permeated Donaldson's room. "They'll think I did it."

She instead softly shrugged. "He was weak and in the way," she pursed her lips as she let go of Yultz's head and let it droop to one side, the look of shock and horror still on his face. "Not even much sport," she said.

"I need to go to sector 10 alone," Chris stated, glancing nervously at the other blood-smeared doors in the corridor. He watched as the edges of a nearby door dripped with reddish, thick streaks. "You heard what Donaldson said."

Alexis rose, faintly smiling as she did. "I have needs of my own," Alexis stated, drawing closer, but this time Chris backed away, placing his hand on his pistol. Alexis pouted slightly, but turned slightly away. "Run along and play," she waved lightly, then turned on her stilettoed heel and sashayed away down the opposite hall. As she departed, dark shapes scuttled along the walls, rushing to join her. Things that whispered and giggled closed in, and a sound like hissing steam began to rise behind Chris's back. Within the span of a few heartbeats, Chris lost sight of her as the lights in the hall died with a loud thunk.

Then the screaming began.


	18. Chapter 17

CHAPTER 17

Chris gasped as he awoke, opening his eyes to find himself sitting in the airlock to Sector 10. His mind raced as he sought to separate the vision from reality. He remembered rendering Sable unconscious, then quickly making his way to Donaldson's room. Donaldson's room had been upended; knickknacks sprawled across the floor from where they had fallen from shattered glass shelves. Long, savage scratches marred the shredded bed and a portable computer terminal lay nearby on its side, knocked off the white desk nearby.

Chris remembered bending down to right it. As he did, he found the bottom dripping with thick, translucent goo. He had wiped the goo from his hands and placed the terminal back on the desk. It was still on, and now righted, it played back the last few minutes of video. In the large screen, Chris could make out the image of Donaldson, and in a smaller screen in the corner, Yultz looking on from within a pristine version of Donaldson's room.

"I made a mistake," Donaldson huffed on the screen. "Instead of destroying it, one of them got loose - though Abain is out of the way," The puffy man looked behind him, then stated, "I don't think its gotten out of the area yet, but I need you to come to Sector 10, Yultz. We need to clean this mess up - and finish the job."

Chris had noticed the granulated image of Yultz nod. "I'll bring some more heavy explosives from the armory," Yultz had stated. "You just make sure there's no one there to question me, just like last time."

"Michael's recalled the clean-up crew until he can get a containment unit in here," Donaldson stated, "I'm the only one in here at the moment." He shuddered. "Hurry, Yultz, I don't want it to find me here."

Yultz nodded again, and then suddenly went rigid as a black spike erupted through the front of his chest. Donaldson yelled in panic, but Yultz could only gurgle as his head lolled backward. The image of Yultz catapulted sideways into a somersault and the entire video went dead, with Donaldson still screaming at the top of his lungs, brandishing a pistol at the screen, as if he could will the bullet through the camera to its target.

Chris heard something lightly drop to the floor behind him, and froze. He heard a soft rattling sound, like metal clanking together. The hairs on Chris's back rose as he forced himself to turn slowly. Behind him, something hissed like steam escaping from a broken pipe.

As the sound of something whipped through the air towards him, Chris reactively rolled aside. He continued his roll and came up in a squat, his pistol held out before him.

A mere two meters away, a nightmarish figure stood before him. It was easily over two meters tall, encased in ebony bone armor. Its elongated head was nearly as long as its chest was tall. There were no eyes, but instead a blank, black forehead decorated with bone and tube-like muscles. Sharp, crystalline incisors lined its skeletal mouth and steel cables held its maw together in a rigor-like grin.

The creature's three-fingered hands were open and ready to grasp, it's arms held wide and stretching like a steel cage blocking Chris from the exit to the room. The creature's long tail, like an elongated fleshless spine, whipped about like an irked cat's tail. The tip of the tail was a bloodied, black spear. This was clearly the thing that had killed Yultz and that he glimpsed on the ceiling of Sector 10. At the sight of the creature, Nicholas's word _dragon_ drove into his mind like a spike drilled into his brain.

Chris fired at the creature, but it was too swift, leaping aside on all fours and then dashing to pounce upon him like some black lion. However, Chris was swift as well and again rolled away from the creature, coming back up with the open doorway at his back and his gun held out towards the creature.

Still on all fours, the behemoth hissed at him, its voice serpentine and cat-like simultaneously. It lurched at him again, but Chris had already backed through the door, and punched the access panel, causing the door to shudder closed between them.

Chris retracted from the door as the creature's bulk slammed against it with a thunderous boom. He had turned and run as the thing slammed repeatedly against the door, metal bulging and straining as it hissed and screeched.

Chris had pushed through the throng that began to gather in the hall he ran through. He used the swiftly moving speed rails to made it down several corridors before he heard the first panicked scream behind him. As he continued to run, they had faded, until he reached the central common area. The regular, sterile white lighting flipped to red as alarms began to bellow. Mercenaries dashed past him, heading for the corridor he had left.

He ignored them, making his way to the central elevator. As he reached it, he could hear the commotion of gunfire far behind him. The sound of indistinct, barked orders rose and men died mixed with the blare of sirens. Chris jabbed at the controls for the elevator, but the control panel only displayed a large, flashing red "X" and refused to respond.

Gritting his teeth, Chris moved to the nearby stairwell. Swiping his badge, he pulled the door open and moved into the stairwell. As the door slid shut behind him, it blocked out all sound from the area outside.

Rotating blue warning lights lit the walls of the spiraling staircase that wound upwards to the entry chamber five levels above and downward into the black depths of the lab sectors below. Chris stopped a moment to catch his breath in the silent hall.

As he lingered, he heard indistinct voices from the stairs above. Moving as quietly as he could, he made his way to the stairs down.

As he listened to the slow steps of those from above, Chris realized that what he at first thought was indistinct mumbling was, instead another language - one that he did not recognize.

Pulling himself into the shadows of the lower stairwell, he awaited for the approaching individuals to show themselves. He silently gasped as the first reached the landing to the living quarters sectors.

The individual was humanoid, nearly two meters tall. It had ebony, hairless skin and black, pupiless eyes that seemed dead to the world around it. It was dressed in a black exoskeletal suit similar to the creature he had seen in Donaldson's room, and it made him wonder for a moment if the other creature he had seen was one of them, but had been wearing some sort of helmet or attack armor.

However, these beings did not move like the feral creature that had attacked him. They moved like men, but with a more graceful and silent gait than should be possible in the heavy suits they wore. The one at the lead bore a pipe-like, organic object in his two hands, with a cable that led to a strange, bulbous backpack that seemed to breathe of its own accord. Whiffs of black smoke exhaled from nostril-like orifices on the tube, dissipating into motes of black dust as they fell away from the strange organic machine.

Two other, similar figures came to the landing. One bore what looked like the upper, elongated and flattened jaw of some beast. It dripped with gore as if freshly torn from the creature's skull and twitched as if it were sniffing the air for prey. The third bore what reminded Chris of a gore-drenched spine topped with a skull, stripped of flesh but still revealing thick bands of white muscles covered in a black mucus.

The three paused a moment, conversing with one another in the language Chris could not comprehend. Chris started to ease down the steps as he heard more footsteps descending from above.

Before he completely lost sight of the strange figures on the landing, the door to the stairwell burst open, and Sable lurched in, calling Chris's name. He stopped at the sight of the three strange figures, stunned by their unexpected appearance.

Sable attempted to draw up his weapon, but before he could, the figure holding the spine reached forward, pointing the flayed instrument at the mercenary. The maw of the attached skull shuddered and then opened, releasing an array of wire-like strands that wrapped themselves around the mercenary.

Before the entrapped mercenary fell as his limbs cinched to his side, the bands tightened, slicing through flesh. Sable only just began to howl before he was rendered into sliced fragments, blood spraying from the swift constriction.

Chris lingered no longer, and raced down the stairs. Above, he heard the door to the common area open, and the screaming began anew as the strange, alien sounds of the figures weapons unleashed into the crowd outside.

At the landing for the third floor, Chris had exited the stairs and made his way to the airlock for Sector 10. Yellow caution tape spanned to block the massive door, but Chris swiped his badge on the nearby access panel, to no avail. He jammed the intercom and roared into it, "Donaldson!"

There was a pause, then Chris depressed the button again, repeating Donaldson's name. He added, "Let me in there, goddamnit! Let me help you!"

There had been no reply, but after a few moments, the airlock had swung open, allowing Chris to step in. As the door had cycled shut behind him, Chris found the image of Alexis in the small window that looked into Sector 10.

"Hurry to me," she stated coolly, her head bowed and her almond eyes focused on him. "They are here, for me."


	19. Chapter 18

CHAPTER 18

The faint smell of smoke wafted in from the open portal to Sector 10, and Chris carefully peeked into the area beyond. The lights were unusually bright, almost blinding. Shielding his eyes against the initial glare, he carefully entered and made his way to the command module, hoping Donaldson would be there.

By the time he made it to the blackened interior of the command module, his eyes had adjusted to the unusual brightness outside, only to find the lights dimmed within the command module as they passed through the smoked fixtures.

"Donaldson?" Chris queried, his gun drawn. He had not forgotten the demonic shape he had seen earlier along the roof and again in Yultz's room. He half wondered why he had dreamed of Alexia within Yultz's room, but cast the thought aside as he maneuvered through the cluttered and charred empty rooms. Eventually, he found Donaldson in what had been Professor Lindengrass's office. The faux wooden desk within had burned down to its metal core, and Donaldson had set a familiar portable terminal upon on. Clearly he had been watching Chris's progress towards him, and eyed the security officer with pistol in hand.

"Well," Donaldson asked dryly, "Why are you here?"

"Something escaped from here," Chris stated, "I encountered it in Yultz's apartment. It's tearing through the living quarters," Chris replied, slowly lowering his own pistol. "It's attracted something else, and I think they're on the way here to recover whatever is left. It might be a good idea to arm the defense turrets."

"And you came all the way here to warn me?" Donaldson half sneered, still holding his pistol level at Chris.

"Why did you want me to come to Sector 10, if you won't take my advice?" Chris asked.

A puzzled look fell across Donaldson's face. "I haven't even talked to you prior to now," He replied.

Chris bit his lip, only now remembering he had only heard that in his dream. What had prompted him to come here, to face Donaldson then? "What are you doing here?" Chris asked.

"I've been assigned to a crew to try and rebuild this area," he replied carefully.

"Where's your crew?" Chris asked, glancing about and stepping into the room.

"They're dead, I suspect. Or, at least, if they're lucky they are," Donaldson stated, finally lowering the gun. "One of the escaped experiments ambushed them near Lab 10," he said. "Luckily, I was monitoring from here, and they haven't moved in on me – yet." Donaldson furrowed his brow, and added, "Maybe I should arm those turrets."

Chris nodded as Donaldson stepped forward to use the terminal. Before Donaldson could react, Chris closed the few feet between them and with a single chop, he disarmed the pudgy man. "Dammit Donaldson, do you know what you've unleashed?" Chris barked, shoving his arm across the pudgy man's neck, pinning him to the wall of the fire-razed command center. "I know it was you who planted the bombs." As he saw the pudgy man's eyes widen in fear, he tightened his hold, adding "Don't bother trying to deny it, I've already got all the proof I need to have you put away for a very long time!"

Donaldson struggled pathetically, "This…wasn't…supposed to happen," he gasped.

"What was supposed to happen?" Chris demanded to know, pushing himself back and releasing Donaldson.

The pudgy man fell to his knees, gasping. He glanced up from his wheezing at Chris. "The fire should have destroyed everything – the lab, the research, the specimens. But you stopped it, I'm told."

"Were all the people in the sector supposed to die as well?" Chris asked, "Because it was a poor plan if that was the case."

"Reynolds and Piper were working with me to uncover what was going on," Donaldson countered, "They forced my hand when the two of them vanished two days ago. Yultz was supposed to plant the bombs in Lab 7 and 10 to destroy the creatures there. The fire in Lab 5 was supposed to evacuate everyone before they went off," Donaldson explained. "Somehow, the bomb from Lab 10 ended up in the conference room – and then Michael's assistant set it off prematurely."

They glared at each other for several moments, before Donaldson finally broke the silence by speaking. "I can't take back what happened," he stated, slowly rising and moving over to the singed desk where his portable terminal sat. "Our concern should be in salvaging the current situation, not worrying about how we got in this fix." He tapped several keystrokes into the terminal and explained, "Like you suggested, I've armed the sector's turret defenses. That should prevent those beings you saw from getting into the sector, and with any luck, keep our xenomorphic friends from attacking us in here. We should be safe as long as you keep that IFF badge visible." Donaldson stated the last indicating the plastic badge they both prominently wore.

"So our plan is just to sit here?" Chris asked.

"No," Donaldson stated, punching up an image on the portable terminal, and then turning the computer to face Chris, "We are leaving this deathtrap."

Chris glanced at the image. It was a murky exterior image, with a single spotlight shining on the hull of the submersible ship _Ikelos._

"We're just leaving everyone behind?" Chris frowned.

"I am," Donaldson stated. "They brought this on themselves with this illegal research. The problem is, we have to go through Lab 10 to get to the vessel."

"What's in Lab 10?" Chris asked, taking a moment to glance out the broken window at the faint outline of the three-story tall lab at the far end of the sector.

"The mother of all monsters," Donaldson replied. "Something they scooped up off the seabed from the middle of the Atlantic." He shuddered. "The damn thing was practically frozen when they found it, but the fire and explosions shut the cryogenic system down."

"Your friend Michael had some equipment and a backup system hauled in here to re-establish the system early this morning," Donaldson added, "But three of those things showed up and took them out, triggering a lockdown of the entire sector. That's when I called for Yultz. I don't know how that one got out or why it went after him – but it was almost like it knew I was planning to destroy the big one down here."

"What about those bipeds I saw in the stairwell?" Chris asked. "What are they?"

There was a pause as Donaldson momentarily accessed the camera feed from the upper level. Most of the halls were now deserted or filled with piles of eviscerated corpses. Finally, Donaldson caught a glimpse of the three black armored individuals stalking through the corridors. "Another xenomorphic species," Donaldson stated, packing up the terminal. "One of two other species associated with these monsters. The Company refers to them as Dezzites, or engineers."

"Engineers?" Chris asked.

"Yes," Donaldson replied, "The Company thinks they are bioengineers and may have had a hand in creating – or at least spreading - these aliens." Before Chris could ask any more questions, Donaldson waved his hands, "Doesn't matter if it's true or not – we should leave before they realize we're down here."

"How do we get past the creature in Lab 10?" Chris asked as they made their way out of the room.

"It's supposedly restrained in the room, and it's hopefully still frozen, but I couldn't verify it – both the camera and the tracking gun in the lab have become non-functional," Donaldson replied. At that note, Chris stopped at the gutted remains of the security center. To his dismay, the weapons locker had not survived the fire and the weapons within were useless.

"Well, how do we know if it's still restrained or even frozen?" Chris queried as they made their way back to the main hall and down the open steps to the midlevel.

"Because it's not making a racket trying to get out," Donaldson replied.

"What about the other creatures?" Chris asked.

"I haven't seen all three since they mauled the repair crew," Donaldson replied. "Since then, I've only seen just the one that attacked Yultz. I suspect they're upstairs creating havoc in the living quarters you left." As they reached the halls at midlevel, Donaldson glanced about, taking note of the active turrets above their head. While he clung to the portable terminal with one hand, Donaldson prominently held his white badge forward with the other. He displayed it to the turrets above whenever their tracking swiveled them in his direction.

Chris patted his own badge only once to make sure he still wore it, but kept his mind on his surroundings, in case someone or something else was in the sector with him. In fact, he could feel something drawing him – almost welcoming him – as he approached the tall, elongated lab at the end of the sector.

"So," Chris asked as they made their way towards Lab 10, "How many of those things are there?"

"There was only one in experiment 702," Donaldson stated as they passed Lab 5, "And the bomb there should have destroyed it. But knowing how these things reproduce," he blanched, "When Reynolds and Piper disappeared, I knew there would be more to come. When the three attacked the repair team earlier today, I knew I was right. Now, there's no telling how many there could be."

"How _does_ that thing reproduce?" Chris wondered from the lead, glancing back at Donaldson.

"A thing called a facehugger hatches from an egg produced by their 'Queen', implants an embryo in a host," Donaldson stated. "After about twenty-four hours, the developing embryo erupts from the victim's chest," he continued, "and within a day it's fully grown."

"Geez," Chris marveled, "Given enough eggs, that could get nasty fast. I'm guessing there must be a queen in Lab 10?"

"Exactly," Donaldson replied. "The company could raise an entire army of those things in less than 48 hours. That's why I was trying to destroy it."

"Yeah, where's the company going to find volunteers to hatch those things?" Chris sneered. "I'm certainly not volunteering to have my chest ripped open."

"Criminals, colonists in hypersleep transports, seeding rebellious mining colonies, unsuspecting repair teams," Donaldson replied. "It takes on attributes of the host, so in a pinch you could use cattle, maybe even dogs like Rottweilers or such."

Chris whirled from leading the two towards Lab 10 to stare in disbelief at Donaldson. "Attributes of the host? The one that killed Yultz looked – somewhat human," Chris thought aloud, "And you said Reynolds and Piper had gone missing."

Donaldson did not answer, but the set of his double chins told Chris what he needed to know. Chris seethed with sudden anger. "He told me he wasn't doing bioweapons research."

"Michael Bishop Weyland?" Donaldson asked, his voice dripping with venom as he spoke the words. "Just add it to his list of lies."

After several minutes, they had reached the large doorway to Lab 10. Chris moved up to the door and attempted to access the control panel. After Chris slid his badge in the access port, the panel turned red and a verbal negatory beep sounded. Chris tried again, but the door refused to open.

"I'd better not run my badge again," Chris paused as Donaldson watched. He glanced back up towards the turret above them nervously. "A third time would deactivate my badge," he warned. "Clearly, I don't have the security to get in," He sighed and looked at ambivalent Donaldson, "How about you?"

"I'll need to override," Donaldson nodded patting the portable terminal, "But just to be safe, I need to disarm the turrets momentarily while I do that – stay on guard."

Chris nodded, moving into the center of the intersection and holding out his pistol. Donaldson brought the portable terminal up beside the access panel and with the flick of his wrist, four telescoping legs extruded from the bottom of the case, settling it at waist height. Donaldson then pulled a cable from the back of the portable terminal and plugged into a maintenance port on the access panel. In short order and after a handful of keystrokes, the door began to cycle open for Donaldson.

As the door began to open, Donaldson tore down the portable terminal. Chris cautiously moved up, but halted as a mixture of warm air and thin mist began to bubble out of the room.

"So much for it being frozen," he remarked to Donaldson. The poorly lit interior of the lab made it difficult to see within, and Chris squinted from the doorway, pulling a flashlight from his hip as he kept his pistol at the ready.

"Where is the hatch? I don't see it," Chris stated, shining his flashlight about the interior of the lab. The light barely reached the far wall, and could not illuminate the entire length from left to right.

"There isn't one in there," Donaldson stated, taking a step back as he pulled up his portable terminal with both hands.

Something struck Chris from behind, knocking him to his knees and stunning him. Before he could gather his senses, Donaldson reached forward, yanked Chris's badge off his uniform and shoved him with a kick through the open lab door. "The _Ikelos_ access port is down the hall. I just need to be rid of you." Donaldson explained, kicking Chris's gun further away, after the latter had dropped it while being knocked down.

As Chris looked back to him, Donaldson snarled, "You two deserve one another," backing away and holding Chris's badge in his off hand. Chris held the back of his forehead, feeling the blood ooze from between his fingers. He had regained enough of his senses to turn and look at his traitor. Donaldson didn't see the black shape rising behind him from a freshly opened floor grate, but Chris did. It wasn't until the creature had risen to its full two meter height and its shadow fell over Donaldson before the man realized something was behind him.

Donaldson pulled a pistol from his sleeve. It was a tiny thing, even smaller than Chris's M4A3 pistol. He aimed it at the black, armored creature that rose before him and fired. Donaldson only squeezed off two rounds, but the bullets just seemed to skip off the creature's hide. Then it grabbed him about the waist and lifted him up, pinning the pudgy man's arms to his sides. As it brought the screaming Donaldson up, the alien creature's jaws parted, revealing the salivating inner jaws. It then seemed to kiss his forehead, and Chris heard the distinctive crunch of pierced bone. Donaldson's feet danced uncontrollably as blood began to run down his baby blue suit.

Chris waited no longer, but instead slammed the door's control, sealing the large door shut behind him. With the door shut and him sealed inside, Chris turned, further examining the lab he had entered.

Yellow light filtered from above through a hazy mist. Long, pipe-like structures lined the floor and wall. They all seemed to run towards the right side of the room, which was black with shadow. The smaller, two-finger-thick intestinal pipes under his feet gave a slight gurgle as he stepped on them. Patches of a resin-like material that formed strange geometric patterns fastened the larger entrail-like pipes to the wall.

Across from the doorway, an encrusted railing divided the walkway he stood on from a pool of swirling white mist. Something audibly scuttled in the mist, moving like a steel spider scuttling over a tin floor.

Something white and leathery leapt from the mist. It covered his face as he felt something wrap about his neck. He fought, but he could not see, could not breathe.

"One last sleep," he heard whisper into his mind, accompanied by a low, serpentine his from the shadows to his left, "And then there will be no more dreams."


	20. Chapter 19

CHAPTER 19

Chris awoke with a start. Yellow light filtered from above through a hazy mist, obscuring his surroundings. It took long moments for him pull himself up off the damp floor. Beneath him, long, pipe-like structures ran towards his left, to a shadow-filled section of the tall building. Each of the pipes was no thicker than two of his fingers, and they gurgled softly as he shifted his weight on them. Just past his feet, an encrusted railing divided the floor he lay on from a depressed section that filled most of the poorly lit room. Thick, creamy white mist filled the depression, obscuring its contents.

Chris noticed similar piping decorated the walls were decorated, though it was thicker and sections were covered over with patches of a resin-like material that formed strange geometric patterns. All of the tubes and pipes seem to run the length of the chamber towards an end filled with flickering, moving shadows.

His throat was sore, as if he had been screaming for hours on end. His skin was wet, most likely from the thick humidity that clung in the air. As he sat up, the memory of the last few hours slowly filtered back into his mind. Donaldson – where was that traitor Donaldson? Slowly rising to his feet, his head begin to ring with their conversation from earlier.

As the last of the horrible memory faded, Chris hauled himself back to his feet. There was no trace of the white mass that had leapt at him. But he could sense another presence – in the far shadows to his right. He felt a cold chill run down his back as it beckoned to him and he could feel unseen almond eyes fall upon him.

Something in the shadows of Lab 10 moved, and Chris took a cautious step towards the door. He hesitated, and then heard a low, guttural hiss – like escaping steam – echo from the far area. Though the sound chilled him to the bone, something inside tugged at him and without knowing why, he felt that the strange hiss was welcoming.

As Chris looked on, he froze. The shadows against the far wall seemed to part, revealing the tall, slender image of Alexia, her Nubian features melding into the strange pipework that ran along the walls and floors. Twisted braids of black hair became pipes that ran the length of the wall. Her midnight blue dress appeared formed from strange, armored arms that ended in steel-taloned claws that grasp about her body, holding her against the wall. What shadows still surrounded her shifted and glinted, and Chris thought at moments he could behold white, eyeless skulls grinning at him from the surrounding shadows. As always, her almond eyes were upon Chris and her red-nailed hands lay folded across her bosom.

"What are you doing here?" Chris asked.

"I was waiting for you," she smiled sardonically.

"Davidson said you were the mother of all monsters," Chris stated plainly.

"I am," she replied, nodding with her eyes.

Chris wanted to draw his pistol and fire at her, but he found his muscles frozen. He gritted his teeth with effort to move, but found he could not. Alexia leaned forward and the clawed hands that held her in place drew back, revealing her perfect, dark skin. A moment later and she was free of the restraining arms and away from the wall, though her long braids remained attached to the biomechanical pipes that surrounded them.

"You are so unlike the others," she stated, cocking her head slightly as her gaze held him motionless. "Their minds are so little, their thoughts unable to penetrate beyond their soft shells. Even when I speak into their minds they cannot hear me." She took a step closer, enough so that Chris could feel her breath on his lips. It smelt of curdled death, but he could only gape at her.

"But you reached out to me, in your dreams," she said. "At first, I did not know why. I only thought to enslave you, to use you to free me from my imprisonment," she paused, and smiled, her red lips parting wide to reveal the white teeth behind them. "But our minds mingled. I began to see in you things about your kind I never understood, things I did not know could exist."

"What did you learn?" Chris managed to ask.

She drew back a second, as if annoyed with her own thoughts. "Your kind calls it – friendship? Companionship?" she thought aloud. She paused slightly and the word she sought came to mind, "No – love," she corrected, drawing forward again.

"I wish to make you perfect," Alexia cooed, draping her arms over his shoulders. "And I wish to make you mine."

Chris finally managed to pull back from her embrace, but even the effort winded him. He grasped at the ache in his chest. "What are you doing to me?" he demanded.

"I am waking you up, dreamer," she laughed, moving forward and waltzing around him as he knelt, trying to catch his breath.

"It feels like you're killing me," he retorted. "My chest - I can hardly breathe."

"It will pass in a few moments. Don't fight now," she softly chastised. "Save your strength for later. For the transference."

"Transference?" Chris asked.

She stopped, and looked at him in admonishment. "This body must die to complete the transformation," she explained. As a bout of wheezing seized Chris again, Alexia brought her red-tipped finger under her chin and drew his face up to look at hers. "So weak, so imperfect in body," she sighed. "But your mind," she began to smile. "So mighty, cunning and capable. I will make your body mighty and unique. We will discard all your unnecessary baggage – feelings and sensations that serve no purpose in your new life."

Through gritted teeth, Chris asked "What are you doing to me?"

"See me as I am," Alexia drew out, "stop trying to make me pleasant to your eyes," she instructed. "Your mind is strong enough to accept the truth."

Chris tried to focus through the pain as he held his gaze level to Alexia. She smiled, and then the image before him seemed to fracture. Alexia's soft skin cracked and peeled away, revealing black, glistening chitin beneath. Even her eyes melted away as her halo of black, braided hair hardened and became a massive black, wedge-shaped shield. Her form enlarged in size, growing at least three times it previous size. Her slim fingers welded together to form two, four-jointed fingers as the red nail polish fell away to reveal steel-colored talons that were flanked by two thumbs. Behind her, her spine lengthened into a thrashing tail covered in the same black chitin that covered the rest of her body.

"No, no," Chris moaned as two lesser, chitin-covered arms pushed themselves out from her side, "I'm dreaming this!"

The behemoth creature did not speak a response, but from underneath the armored crest, the black, eyeless face extended and lightly shook a negatory response. The skeletal, saber-filled mouth of the creature opened to utter a low hiss, but in Chris's mind he could hear Alexia's voice speak, "This is who I am."

Reviled by the sight before him, Chris finally managed to find the strength to overcome the force that held in place. The thing that had been Alexia uttered another hiss borne of unexpected disappointment, as it stepped forward to reach for him with one of its massive talons.

However, the mass of pipes that still connected themselves behind Alexia's crown stopped her from reaching the retreating Chris. Again, the creature hissed, but Chris only heard, "There is nowhere to go. Embrace your destiny."

Clutching his aching chest, Chris declined and made his way to the door. At an eyeless glance from the transformed Alexis, the thick mist in the depressed area bubbled upward and parted. From its depths, a black, armored biped arose. Its long, elongated skull was thrust forward, and it held a snarl on its skeletal, eyeless face.

Chris drew his pistol and aimed it at the creature, recognizing it as the creature that had followed him from Yurtz's room.

"He will not harm you, Chris," Alexia hissed. "Though he still remembers his hatred of you from his former host, I will not allow it. You do not need your gun. Stay, and complete your transformation."

"Former host?" Chris asked aloud, not daring to lower his gun as he eyed the black behemoth. The two-meter tall creature standing knee-deep in the mist did not advance, though Chris could not mistake the hatred conveyed through its body language.

"You knew and hated him as Stan," Alexia explained.

Chris inhaled sharply, daring to glance at Alexia. "That thing is Stan?" He blinked at the creature, "You're lying. He was in medlab –" Again, he glanced at Alexia, "Unless you had one of your monsters bring him here."

"No, he was offered to me," Alexia sniffed, "My children embraced him. We only kept from him what was needed to survive," Alexia replied. "His form, combat skills, his hatreds and the secrets he knows to defeat his prey. The rest was discarded."

"Is that what is going to happen to me?" Chris stated, wincing to grasp at his chest.

"Yes," Alexia hissed. "Your shell is but a vessel for a new, improved form. But your mind – not just your memories - is strong enough to pass through to your new form," she added.

"I don't want to die," Chris stated, doubling in pain.

"That is the way of your weaker form," Alexia countered, "But not of my children. Become one of us," she offered, "And live forever."

Before Chris could respond, the door to the lab behind him opened. Bright, sterile light shown in from outside, highlighting his form and making Chris wince. Through the stabbing light, though, he could make out a gangly human form standing in the doorway.

"Ah hell, you're alive," Nicholas sighed from the doorway. Before Chris could respond, the thin man grabbed Chris by the shoulder with surprising strength. Chris wheezed, but Nicholas merely forced Chris to his feet and pulled him back towards the door. The black armored creature amid the swirling mist lurched forward, striding silently but swiftly towards the two.

"Nicholas –," Chris started to warn, but broke into a coughing fit.

"I see 'em," Nicholas responded, and with a free arm he brought up a silver rifle and depressed the trigger. Instead of a spray of bullets, an arc of lightning shot from the weapon, catching the tall black xenomorph full on. It shook as lightning lanced its body, then smoking, it fell over on its side. Alexia screamed in rage, both verbally and mentally.

At Alexia's roar, the mist-filled reservoir began to boil like a bubbling cauldron. Before other scrabbling creatures within the mist could make their way out of the mist-filled ravine, Nicholas slammed the outer door control and the lab door instantly slammed shut. He jabbed the controls twice more, then backed away. "That should keep them busy for a minute," Nicholas huffed as he started to pull Chris back along the hall away from the lab.

"Where are we going?" Chris asked, stumbling as Nicholas led him on.

"To see Mr. Weyland," Nicholas explained as he paused in the next intersection, pointing the chrome rifle down each passage before continuing his retreat. Chris coughed and Nicholas's lip curled. "They've put one in you, haven't they?" He stated, leveling the gun at Chris.

Chris feebly nodded yes, managing to mouth, "I don't want to die – not here, not like this."

When he coughed again and doubled in pain, Nicholas pulled the trigger on the rifle, sending a surge of electricity through Chris's body. When the lightning stopped, Chris's tense muscles relaxed, and he fell to the ground, smoking from where the arc had struck him in the chest.


	21. Chapter 20

CHAPTER 20

Chris's senses slowly came back to him, and after a moment, his eyes flickered open. Bright, sterile white light shown down upon him, revealing an undecorated, padded white room. He was lying on his back in some sort of bed, with metal railings pulled up on the sides. He was cold; it took a moment for him to realize he had been undressed and no blanket covered his chill body. Instead, a glass medical scanner lay over most of his body and his arms and legs were tightly bound. He attempted to talk, with the transparent mask over his face feeding him oxygen, he could only let out a gurgled hiss.

"Mr. Weyland, he's coming around," He heard a familiar voice state. His eyes flicked to the impossible source to find the Administrator, Tony Richards, leaning lightly on the bed to his left.

"Chris, relax," the steady voice of Michael soothed as the begowned man came up on his right. Another figure stood to Michael's right, dressed in a medical gown and mask. It took several moments for Chris to realize it was Abain behind the surgical mask. Without a word, Abain handed Michael a datapad as Chris began to struggle uncomfortably.

"Boss, I think he's going to pop," Nicholas's voice called from nearby, holding up the chrome rifle in his hand. Chris could hear the slight hum as the gun began to charge.

"It's all right," Michael attempted to calm Chris, "Take it easy; you've had a rough day."

Chris struggled to speak, but the mask he wore distorted his words until Michael pulled it back, despite both Tony's and Nicholas's frown. Abain simply watched dispassionately.

"Where – where am I?" Chris asked.

"You're in the surgical suite on Level 4," Michael calmed.

"How – how are you here?" Chris asked, looking from Tony to Abain.

"Don't worry about that now," Michael replied. "Tell me how you feel."

He felt tired, confused - how much had been dream? How much was real? His muscles ached from use and he could smell the faint stench of smoke still upon his body. Sector 10 - the fire -

Chris was about to respond to Michael's query when he caught a glimpse of a nearby monitor. On the gray and white screen Chris could make out the silhouette of a man's chest. Beside the beating heart indicated on the center of the screen was a large oval lump that occasionally twitched. It reminded him of a malformed, monstrous baby with savage teeth and a skull that was too long to be human. It had not been a dream.

Chris gritted his teeth. "Get it out," he growled.

"That's what I'm attempting to do," Michael responded, pointing to a tray full of unused surgery tools just behind him. "But somehow, you've counteracted the anesthetic we gave you," he added, "Remarkable." Michael nodded to Abain, who flicked a switch on a machine beside the bed. Out of the corner of his eye, Chris could see yellow fluid stream into a transparent tube that ran from the machine into his restrained arm. A strange coolness began to flow into his body as the liquid dispersed into him.

Chris held his unremitting gaze on Michael as he clenched his numbing fist, "You lied to me," At Michael's puzzled look, he added slowly, "You told me you weren't performing bioweapons research."

"I did not lie about that," Michael stated, pulling back up.

"Bullshit," Chris let the words slide out, "Donaldson told me about your research."

"Ah, Donaldson," Michael nodded, looking to Abain. "Unfortunately, we found out about him too late," he stated, knowingly eying Tony across the bed.

"Donaldson was not who he said he was," Tony responded as Chris futilely tugged at his restraints, "His real name is Daniel MacDonald – grandson of Weyland Yutani's former CEO, Henry MacDonald."

"It seems Daniel blamed me for his grandfather's suicide," Michael explained. "And had engaged in corporate espionage in the hopes of ruining our profits and patents by leaking project data to our rivals."

"What about experiments 701 and 702?" Chris demanded as he felt sleep edging in on the corners of his consiousness.

"Ah," Michael sighed as Tony looked uneasy. "Daniel mistook those as bioweapons research," Michael nodded sagely. "No," he lectured, "The Acheron incident made it clear they are unreliable as soldiers in their present state." He explained, "We had the specimens here for research of another kind."

"What sort of research?" Chris asked, his eyes slowly slipping closed.

"Immortality," Michael whispered, which the words briefly made Chris's eyes flicker open. "These creatures can withstand the vacuum of space. They hardly have to eat to reach their mature size," he continued, "And the queen – she has existed for hundreds – if not thousands – of years." He leaned down to Chris and whispered, "Imagine if we could unlock those abilities – incorporate them into our own DNA."

"Your insane," Chris breathed, remembering Alexia. "They'll kill you all. They're murderous."

"No," Michael stated with a slight shake of his head, "Two other races we have encountered already show they can be controlled, in the correct environment," Michael reported.

"I saw Abain, dead, in Sector 10 – and on the report," Chris nodded at the masked individual beside Michael. His eyes began to flutter with the effort to keep them open.

"This is not the Abain you knew," Michael stated, "he's a genetic quadruplet – one of four on my team."

"And Tony?" Chris whispered, his eyes shutting.

"You know full well he's an android," Michael replied. "Though it wasn't easy to reactivate him. You're lucky we were able to track you back to Sector 10. Nicholas took quite a fair risk in recovering you."

"Lucky," Chris half-mumbled. "Better good..." but he did not finish as consciousness drifted away.

A moment later, he again opened his eyes. He sat cross-legged, in his uniform, in a white area without visible walls, ceiling or floor. Yet, he could clearly feel the solid ground beneath him. Slowly, he rose and looked around. It was dead silent, almost painfully so.

He took a step, but pulled back as the floor began to bubble and rise. A moment later, the rising section of floor darkened and took humanoid shape. As the sublime shape's features filled in, Chris could clearly tell it was Alexia. When her shape finally solidified, she rose and faced Chris with a dark smile on her face.

"Leave me alone," Chris snapped, taking a step back and holding his arms in a defensive posture. As her gaze bore into him, he felt a stirring in his chest.

"You still resist the inevitable?" She asked softly, crossing her arms for the first time since Chris had seen her.

"You're damn straight," He found himself wheezing. "To the bitter end."

"There is much strength in you," she remarked, "But you are blinded by your misguided loyalty to these others around you."

"I'm not listening to you," Chris replied, "Leave me alone!"

"I thought I was the one who did not understand," Alexia replied sadly, holding her hand out. "But you do not see – you do not remember what they have done to you, do you?"

"I don't want to hear your lies," Chris protested as Alexia's almond eyes examined him.

Alexia shook her head as if frustrated, "No lies," she whispered, "Only insights into the truth." She regarded him and stated, "Why do you refuse to look into your master's mind and see the truths there?"

"What are you talking about?" Chris scowled, "I don't have a master."

"Perhaps that is not the right word," Alexia stated, furrowing her dark eyebrows. "He is the one you defer to. He is the reason you resist us."

"I resist you because I don't want to die," Chris retorted.

"You cling to this pathetic body out of fear," Alexia chided. "Among these others, you alone have the ability to stretch your mind beyond the feeble shell you inhabit. Yet you restrain yourself – only peeking out occasionally and with permission." She straightened, and held her hand out for Chris to take. "It is time you expand your consciousness, to explore your full existence."

"What are you talking about?" Chris asked, staring at her open hand.

"You want to know the truth about what is going on here?" Alexia asked, to which Chris slowly nodded. "Before I met you, the minds of these others were jumbled and indecipherable. You have taught me to understand, and I wish to return the favor."

She glowered at him, continuing to hold her hand out. "It is time to see inside the mind of Michael Weyland, your father – your … King."

Chris stared blankly at Alexia and her outstretched hand. "He's not – I …," Chris found himself without words as Alexia continued to impatiently hold out her hand. Finally, as if mesmerized, he took her hand, and the white area they stood within fell away.


	22. Chapter 21

CHAPTER 21

Chris, opening his eyes, found himself inside a cylinder made of glass. He could feel himself floating naked and hairless in a viscous, clear fluid. There was a moment of panic, but then he realized that he did not need to breath in the fluid that suffused his body.

Beyond the cylinder was a white lab, similar to the surgery suite he had been in moments ago. An arm's length away, on the other side of the cylinder's glass stood a somewhat younger Michael Weyland, staring dispassionately back at him. To his right, was a much younger Abain, hardly more than a youth of sixteen years. As Chris floated and watched, Abain handed Michael a datapad.

Instead of reading it, Michael asked, "How is he doing?"

"Extremely well," Abain replied. "We've seem to hit on the right genetic formula this time," he continued. "Body strength is easily thrice human average at this stage. With extensive muscular training, we could easily hit five – maximum human strength, that is."

"Let's keep it in the high, yet humanly feasible realm," Michael countered. He paused, wrinkled his nose and stated, "He seems a bit – short?" Michael frowned.

"A minor side effect of the increased muscle mass," Abain replied, "the slightly smaller frame provides more stability." Noting Michael's dubious expression, he added, "He'll hit at least 5' 8", Sir." To which Michael nodded satisfactorily.

"Mentally?" Michael queried.

"We estimate an IQ of 165, with enhanced photographic memory," Abain replied. "There is also evidence of empathic abilities now, and he may even prove to have telepathic abilities upon awakening."

"Will that be a problem?" Michael asked sharply.

"We can instigate psychological training that should properly restrain his abilities," Abain replied, "though I would suggest anyone who will have prolonged contact with him have mental discipline training."

Michael raised an eyebrow, "Would that include me, Abain?"

The Phillipino smiled an assent. "Very well," Michael sighed. "When will he be ready for decantment?"

"In about six weeks," Abain informed Michael. "Group C is preparing a mental regimen to program him with as his development levels out. He should be fully prepared for social integration when he is removed from the chamber."

"Interesting term to use – program," Michael stated.

"It is based on the advanced mental mapping you devised for the Maya program," Abain replied. "Which in turn is a refinement of the advanced robotics programming methodology you pioneered. I believe the term is appropriate."

"He'll have full memories?" Michael asked, "Family, friends, school – an entire history?"

"Yes," Abain nodded, "As you iterated, we want there to be no chance of discovery that Subject 12 was vat grown and genetically enhanced."

"And the other, failed experiments?" Michael queried.

"Liquefied," Abain replied.

"Very well," Michael stated with a slightly despondent sigh. "Will we be able to test him immediately upon decantment?"

"Sir," Abain replied dryly, "I would advise six weeks of training and integration before releasing him into a combat zone. This technology is still experimental, after all."

"We are on a tight schedule," Michael responded, "I'm already being queried to produce profitable results on this investment." Michael thought a moment, and then stated, "You will have three weeks to examine Subject 12, then we need to put him through his paces. The company is expecting to have us a combat zone open up at that time," He paused and then asked Abain. "Has a name been chosen?"

"There has been a pool among the researchers," Abain responded. "If you would honor the winner's request, his name will be Christopher."

"Chris," Michael replied with a nod. "That will work."

The room and all it contained began to fade from Chris's perception. He found himself adrift amid a night-blue sky, with his only companion being Alexia.

"Was that – real?" Chris asked.

"A small peek into Michael's mind," Alexia softly replied. "Those memories are as real as he perceives it to be."

"Why – why was I made?" Chris pondered.

"Your life was subverted to fight, to eradicate an enemy," Alexia replied, "That is what attracted you to me." As Chris looked at her in wonderment, she explained, "I and my children were abducted for the entertainment of another race." As her brows furrowed, she continued, "Our ways were subverted and we were enslaved to the will of others. Our existence was once pure, but my generations had been subverted – as you have – for war."

"I thought I joined the marines of my own volition," Chris stated, searching for the truth within himself. "Wasn't that my decision?"

"No," Alexia stated. "See for yourself," she nodded, and the night sky faded away again.

This time, the image coalesced to form a sterile apartment with a single, plain bed with a cold metal table situated nearby. Reflected in the mirror on the nearby wall, a sixteen year old Chris sat at the foot of the bed, his hands folded obediently as Micheal Weyland leaned against the desk. Abain sat in a simple metal folding chair, comparing two datapads.

"So, can he be salvaged?" Michael asked as Chris continued to sit idly.

"I believe I have found the defect," Abain stated, "However, it is a core level defect that will not be easily rectified."

"What is the issue?" Michael asked, turning away from Chris to look at Abain's datapads.

"The technician who programmed the memories of his parent's loss left him with enough memories before their passing to create regret and empathy," Abain sighed. "He has a fatal character flaw in that he has formed strong attachments to others and fears losing them. He will take unnecessary risks to ensure their safety."

"You would think that would be a commendable trait," Michael replied, taking and reviewing the datapad.

"It creates hesitancy and a lack of ruthlessness," Abain countered. "And likewise led to the incident this afternoon."

"Where am I?" Chris asked.

"You are in one of Michael's memories," Alexia stated, sitting down beside the young Chris. "A very important one."

"What happened? What are they discussing?" he asked.

"Let us see," Alexia replied, nodding at the datapad in Michael's hand. At her nod, Chris leaned forward and took the datapad Michael was still holding. Michael blinked at Abain and glanced at Alexia, too startled to talk. Ignoring Michael, Alexia leaned over Chris's shoulder as she sat down next to him, as he began to read.

"It says I killed three people," Chris stated, looking up to the surprised Michael.

"Yes," Michael stated slowly. Over his shoulder, he asked Abain, "He's supposed to be in a meditative trance, isn't he?" To Alexia, he asked, "Who are you? I don't remember you being here."

Alexia gripped Chris's shoulder at the statement, "You've touched his awakened mind Chris," she warned, "We must hurry."

"Who are you?" Michael asked angrily, taking a step toward Alexia. In response, Chris stood, holding the datapad.

"It says here I killed two lab assistants and a security guard," Chris stated with his jaw firmly set.

Michael took a step back. Behind Chris, Alexia glared with a cold smile.

"It's dated a few days before I shipped out to my first war zone," Chris stated, shaking with growing anger. "But that can't be – I was training at Fennsback Station on Tycho with the colonial marines," he stated. "And I didn't meet you until just prior to the KenBa Station massacre," Chris stated, narrowing his eyes, "In my second tour, over a year later."

"We – we wiped your memory of this incident," Michael stated, surprised at his own words. Behind Michael, Abain simply sat, oblivious to Chris's and Alexia's presence.

"Why don't you ask why you killed them?" Alexia prompted.

Chris looked darkly at Michael. There was silence for a moment, then Michael was compelled to respond, "I don't know."

"Abain does," Alexia replied.

Chris turned to face the quiet Phillipino, who sat expressionless behind the desk.

"Chris, no," Michael attempted to warn, holding out his hand.

When Abain refused to respond to Chris's hardened stare, he felt a strange sensation, as if he were being drawn forward without moving from where he stood. As he concentrated, he seemed to move faster and with greater purpose as he realized he was slipping from Michael's mind and into Abain's. As he did, Abain's dispassionate expression contorted and he began to scream.

Behind him, he could hear Alexia's mirthful, dark laugh.


	23. Chapter 22

CHAPTER 22

Chris's eyes took a moment to adjust to the flickering gloom of the lab. At his feet, the limp body of a security guard lay twisted with its head splattered like an overripe melon. Blood stained Chris's hands and he looked up from the corpse at the sound of muffled moans.

A few feet away, huddled against a white console crouched Abain, clutching a distraught, sobbing blonde-haired researcher. Reaching down, Chris grasp for the guard's weapon, only to stop when he heard a clinking noise resound from the ceiling above. In the darkness above, a pair of glittering eyes stared back at him and a clicking rattle echoed from the metal framework.

Ignoring the cautioning warning from Abain, Chris retrieved the weapon and aimed it at the creature. He let off a two-shot burst, but the creature in the dark ceiling leapt away from its position, landing behind a pair of tall metal cylinders some ten meters away.

One of the two metal cylinders was open, a dim blue light shining from within. About its base a fluorescent pool of green oil pooled, mixed with bits of mottled, shed skin. Moving carefully, Chris advanced towards the twin cylinders, his gun held outstretched.

As he approached the back of the two cylinders, where the creature had vanished, he heard a faint clicking noise. He twisted just as the huge creature leapt down from atop the dark, flat top of the cylinder. Its sheer mass knocked him down, causing his burst of fire to go wild.

Before Chris could recover, the creature atop him used its off hand to grasp the gun in Chris's hand. With an iron grip, it crushed the weapon, ruining it. Chris retaliated by headbutting the creature, stunning it long enough to slip out from underneath the creature's bulk and up and back into a martial stance.

The creature shook its dreadlock-shrouded head and bellowed, its prehensile jaw opening wide in a savage display.

"You are one ugly mutha," Chris replied, as the creature swung at him with clawed, muscled arms. Chris neatly ducked away and landed a blow to the creature's midsection. It barely seemed to register, and the creature lowered a beefy arm across Chris's shoulder, sending him sprawling against the back of the golden cylinder.

As Chris tried to shake off the blow, the two-meter tall creature looked about, clearly seeking a way to exit the chamber. Instead, it spotted the two individuals cringing beneath the nearby control panels. As the female researcher balked, Abain moved to protect it. His brave action only inspired the creature to advance and haul Abain out from underneath the desk by his throat.

By then, Chris had recovered from the blow and fearlessly tackled the huge creature. It barely budged from the attack, but Chris did not relent, sending several vicious blows to the creatures sides and kidneys, causing it to stagger.

Throwing Abain down, the yellow-skinned creature slammed its muscled forearm into Chris's back. Chris grunted from the strike, but did not fall. Instead, he repositioned and with surprising strength, tripped the massive creature onto it's back.

The creature let out an angry growl and reached for Chris, but he instead kicked the creature's hand's away. With a leap, Chris brought his knee down on the creature's throat. As it gurgled to breath, Chris dazed it with two quick blows to the creature's armored cranium.

With it momentarily dazed, Chris took a moment to glance at Abain. However, the young Phillipino lay still, face first on the grated metal decking, blood dripping from his open mouth, his eyes open and vacant.

"Call for a containment unit," Chris shouted to the mortified lab assistant still cowering beneath the desk. When she did not respond, Chris repeated, "Call for help, dammit!"

With his attention distracted, the creature beneath him easily caught him with a solid strike across the head. The blow sent Chris spinning off of his opponent and to the floor.

Finally, stirred from her inaction, the lab assistant made an attempt to stand.

Chris shook the blow off as he lay on the floor. Behind him, he could hear the creature clicking as it rose. In a mockery of his own voice, he heard the thing repeat, "Call for help."

Chris leapt to his feet, and the creature whirled to face him, its talons held at the ready. Chris ducked under the first swipe, landing two solid blows to the creature's solar plexis, driving it backward. As he made another swing, the creature caught his blow with its own clawed hand. With a growl, the creature dug its claws into Chris's hand as it attempted to force Chris's hand backwards.

Gritting his teeth at the pain, Chris grasped the creature's arm with his free hand as it two brought about its other free arm into the fray. Chris tried to lean back to flip the creature, but instead found himself wrestling with the massive creature. Behind him, he could hear the female lab assistant fumbling with the controls.

With a sudden burst of strength the creature wrenched at Chris, heaving him to the side. As Chris was spun to the side, he caught a glimpse of the lab assistant, shouting into a donned headset, a black pistol in her hand. He lost sight of her as he continued his spin, landing on the nearby floor.

Her shaking hand caused the shot to miss. In a single bound, the creature leapt over the console, shoving the assistant into the nearby wall. The creature's backhand knocked the pistol to the floor, and with its other clawed hand, it lifted the lab assistant off the ground by her face.

Chris raced over to the console with a roar on his lips, attempting to draw off the creature's attention. But by the time he reached the console, it was too late. With a sickening crunch, the mottled creature crushed the woman's skull and tossed the limp corpse aside.

As the creature turned to him, Chris slid under the console. His hand wrapped around the black pistol that had fallen beneath it as his body dodged the bloody fist of his opponent.

Before it could strike again, Chris brought the pistol around. Two shots lanced out, one catching it in the eye, the other striking it in the center of the chest where Chris assumed its heart beat.

To both's shock, the creature was lanced by a pair of slim, blue darts. The creature staggered, made a feeble strike at Chris, then collapsed in a heap on the floor. As Chris rose, he dropped the pistol as his glance fell over the three dead bodies around him. His empty hand curled into a fist as the nearby door suddenly slid open.

In the doorway stood a scowling Abain, flanked by two soldiers dressed in black uniforms, their faces obscured by the silver faceplates of their helmets.

"Stand down," the freshly revealed Abain commanded. Chris felt an overwhelming weariness and calm suddenly roll over him and he dropped out of his martial stance. It was then he noticed a darkly smiling Alexia standing just behind Abain and the soldiers. With a grunt, Chris reacted, sweeping the gun up from the floor and pointing it at the unmarred Abain.

"Why?" Chris asked, holding the gun steady at Abain's head.

"You – you shouldn't be able to do that," Abain countered. He squinted at Chris, "In fact you didn't," he said with growing realization. "You failed to stop the creature. It escaped by ripping open the entry to the air duct behind where it fell. What is going on here?"

Chris ignored his protests. "You put down on that report that I killed those three. Why? That creature killed them, not me."

"Your inaction caused their death," Abain snarled. "Your first move was to get my brother and the other assistant to safety and allow the security guard to deal with the creature."

"He was the one who was armed," Chris countered.

"But he had neither the strength nor speed to properly react in time," Abain countered. "If you had seized his weapon at the outset, the creature would have been stopped before it had killed. We wouldn't have lost Sector One attempting to root the creature out after it escaped." He stiffened, and added, "I knew then you were defective. But Michael was not yet ready to admit the truth."

"And what was that thing?" Chris asked.

"It is called a Yutja," Abain replied, "A species superior to humans in strength, speed and intellect. Their culture revolves around hunting. They are predators."

"That thing seemed pretty feral to me," Chris snarled.

"It is a clone, raised away from its own kind," Abain explained. "We liberated the DNA as part the remains from an encounter in the 1980's," Abain stated. He paused, then suddenly asked, "Why am I telling you this? You're not cleared to know it."

"Because I want to know what's going on," Chris countered, as Abain noticed Chris's brow, which was furrowed in concentration.

"You are using your telepathic abilities to read my mind," Abain stated, staggering slightly.

"There's something else your hiding," Chris demanded, "Something recent. Spill it."

"I – no," Abain lurched, attempting to pull away. Chris focused, and Abain went rigid. "What else are you hiding from me?"

Abain grasp at his head as he gritted his teeth. He fell to his knees as Chris continued concentrating, digging into Abain's memories. Abain screamed as Chris rooted into the depths of the man's mind, digging at the secret he fought to hide.


	24. Chapter 23

CHAPTER 23

The overwhelming throbbing in Chris's ears subsided and the world around him slowly drew into focus. He found himself seated into a machine that immobilized him and prodded his body with dozens of needles, monitors and restraints. His head and gaze was transfixed to some sort of viewer that was inches from face. It took him a moment to realize he was not in his own body, but one that was both thinner and taller than himself. Realizing that this was a memory and not his current reality, he forced himself to pull away from the racing images filling the viewer. Though he remained seated in the machine that surrounded him, away from the viewer he could see that he was in a smallish room, surrounded by scores of machines and ribbed pipes that fanned outward away from him. Not far to one side, Abain stood dressed in a silver jumpsuit, holding a datapad. As Chris had seen so many times before, the Phillipino tapped away at the pad, ignoring Chris's presence.

"What is this?" Chris asked, in a voice that was distinctly not his own, but oddly familiar. "Where am I?"

Abain continued to ignore him, instead nodding to a technician at a nearby console. He continued to monitor the datapad, occasionally tapping it or scrolling through its contents.

Chris focused his attention on his surroundings. From Abain's appearance – the overall age, the length of his groomed haircut - this memory he had tapped into was very recent – perhaps less than a month ago. The faint thrumming he could still discern in the background told him he was aboard a ship of some sort – possibly Michael's ship, the _Ikelos_.

With some effort, Chris disembarked from the body held in the machine. As he did so, the prisoner in the machine was drawn back to the visor, obscuring his face. The figure shuddered and twitched several times as Chris left the man's body. As he pulled free, he became an ethereal spirit that glided over to the distracted Abain.

"Mr. Arguilla," the nearby technician called out. "There is a transmission for you from Facility 23 – do you wish to take it?"

Abain sighed, then nodded to the technician. "I'll take it in the control room," he motioned to a glass-paneled room next to the cramped lab they stood in. The technician nodded as Abain moved to the door, a metal-framed glass structure marked "Lab 13 Control". With a swoosh, the door parted in two, allowing Abain to stride in, with the phantasmal Chris gliding in behind him. Once the door slid shut behind the two, Abain thumbed a control that darkened the glass, screening him from being observed by the lone technician in the outer room.

Abain glanced over each shoulder, then flicked on the viewer in front of him at the lone desk within the control booth. The grainy image of Daniel Donaldson, dressed in a gray company uniform flickered to life on the monitor.

"Report," Abain commanded.

"The lab has been set up as you specified," Daniel responded dryly, "Lab 10 in Sector 10 has been set aside for the object you're having dredged up from the sea floor, and Lab 8 is awaiting your specimens from the _Organella _you're bringing in."

"Good," Abain cooed. "Anything else?"

Daniel nodded, and continued, "I have a staff list outlined and will transmit them to you for approval. The head researcher should suit our purposes – she has a background in biological sciences and advanced bioweapon experience. She's just finished her internship at UCLA and has no prior experience with the company. As you requested, she has no social ties to interfere with her placement at the facility."

"Lendigrass," Chris breathed to himself.

Abain smiled. "Excellent, Mr. MacDonaldson, I await your transmission," he stated as his thumb moved to the disconnect switch.

"Mr. Arguilla," Daniel interrupted. When Abain paused, Daniel stated gravely, "What about our agreement? Tony has been circling my desk for the past three days. If he were to discover your alteration to Mr. Wayland's directives, it could become an issue. To say nothing about the undisclosed agreements with the Ares corporation."

"As I promised, Mr. MacDonaldson," Abain nodded, "Administrator Richards will not be an issue. He can be easily – redirected," Abain stated ominously. "Mr. Wayland has no need to know of this change in direction for the Company," Abain warned, "nor our extra-curricular activities."

"Would you care for a report on Subject 12?" Daniel queried.

"No need," Abain frowned as his hand on the console tightened into a fist. "Although I appreciate you taking care of that matter for me," He paused, "Or should I say, I appreciate Mr. Winstone's activities these past few weeks."

"He'll be happy to hear his efforts are appreciated," Daniel nodded.

"You son of a bitch," Chris quietly stated to Abain, "You were working with that traitor MacDonaldson? And you set Stan against me on purpose?" As realization dawned on him, he remarked, "MacDonaldson thought he killed you in Sector 10, didn't he?"

Abain flicked the monitor off, and turned to face the ghostly Chris. "Yes," he replied simply. "MacDonaldson was not aware that I was a quadruplet. He was not aware I sent him back to Sector 10 to pay for his decision to betray us," Abain stated.

Chris thought a moment. "So MacDonaldson tricked your 'twin' into taking the bomb back to the command center?" Chris asked.

"Yes," Abain replied. "It was concealed in a xenomorph's egg we intended to secretly transport to the Ares Corporation."

No longer feeling the need to conceal his presence, Chris forced his form to become solid. "Why did you betray the company?"

"Because I could," Abain stated quietly. As Chris blinked, he explained, "Unlike you, my brothers and I developed naturally from birth as genetically induced quadruplites. Though the Weyland-Yutani corporation supplied our parents and paid for our schooling, we were not programmed to obey the Company." He proudly stated, "We could choose to betray the company, if we so desired."

"How do you know you weren't 'programmed', like I was?" Chris asked.

"The technology did not exist until shortly before your creation," Abain responded coldly. "Simply, it could not have occurred."

"Then why? Why betray the company? Why betray Michael?" Chris demanded, "You didn't just do it out of spite," he reasoned.

"We no longer wanted to be slaves," Abain stated. "We wanted to fulfill a destiny of our own, not remain the property of Weyland-Yutani and the personal servants of Michael Wayland."

"So," Chris asked cautiously, "You revolted?"

"Yes," Abain stated simply. "Something you cannot do. You have been programmed so you cannot rebel. You must obey. There are even built in triggers to ensure your compliance, if needed."

Chris gritted his teeth at the words. "Compliance?" he asked.

"Attack commands, or a susceptible state," Abain explained, then with a feral grin, "Even a self-destruct trigger – as a last resort."

Abain started to speak again, but Alexia brought her hand about from behind him and covered his mouth. Chris blinked; he hadn't even seen her standing behind Abain a moment ago. As Abain struggled against her, she stated to Chris, "That was rather foolish. You should have left his mind when he became aware of your presence," she admonished. "He is also telling the truth about those so-called commands."

"There's one more thing I want to know," Chris snarled, turning on his heel and leaving the control room. Alexia followed him, still holding her hand over the struggling Abain's mouth. "We should leave," she warned, but Chris ignored her.

"I want to know who is in the chair," Chris stated, "his voice sounded familiar. And if Abain has another puppet, I want to know who it is."

Approaching the seated figure, Chris reached out and unstrapped the visor from the individual's face. For a moment, as Chris gazed at the revealed individual, he held his breath.

"Nicholas?" he asked, gazing at the shaved and gaunt figure seated in the machine.

At first, Nicholas said nothing, seemingly too stunned from having being removed from his artificial reality. As Chris bent down, Nicholas's absent gaze began to focus. He first turned his gaze to first fall on Chris, then he looked aside at the struggling figure of Abain that was restrained by Alexia. His lips parted, revealing yellowed teeth and he mouthed, "It's the dragon. She's back."


	25. Chapter 24

CHAPTER 24

"Chris," Alexia stated, "We should leave. I cannot restrain Abain's mind for much longer, he's been mentally trained to fight this sort of intrusion."

"Why is this being done to Nicholas?" Chris asked, glancing back to the restrained Abain.

"He's not going to tell you," Alexia warned.

"Then perhaps Nicholas will," Chris replied with a snarl, turning back to the immobilized figure within the machine.

To his surprise, Nicholas reached out, grasping Chris by the arm. With the feral grin still on his lips, he began to pull Chris down to speak in his ear.

Alexia suddenly hurled Abain aside. "Chris, no – don't listen to him," she warned.

As Chris leaned in to listen, Nicholas pursed his lips, his facial features twisted. Unseen by Chris, his face became a twisted mix of Nicholas and Abain's features.

A word was whispered into Chris's ear as Alexia hurled herself forwards. Chris stiffened, and then clutched at his chest. By the time Alexia reached the transformed Nicholas, Chris was stumbling back and a pool of blood began to form on his lips.

With a feral roar, Alexia's black, armor-clad talons grasp at Nicholas, whose features begin to fade back to their original shape. "You're killing him," she shouted at the horrified, entombed figure. As she shook with anger, a fanged, second mouth began to protrude from her agape, angry maw. "He is not ready to be reborn!" she cried out, in a voice brimming with rage.

Chris leaned against the machine that held Nicholas, and he shivered in pain. Focusing his mind and his gaze, he bore down on the imprisoned Nicholas. A moment later, and he began to feel his wracked mind slip out of Abain's mind and dive into Nicholas's.

Within the span of a moment, the world around Chris twisted and spiraled into nothingness. For several of Chris's own thrumming heartbeats, blackness overwhelmed him. Then, slowly, a suffused orange glow began to brighten the darkness. Several painful heartbeats later, the world solidified around him, and he clutched his chest in agony.

Chris found himself standing upon some sort of balcony or gangplank. Overwhelming heat threatened to char his lungs and the heady smell of molten lead was in the air. As the pain in the chest made him double in pain, a smoke-stained figure reached out and supported him. Glancing up, he saw it was Nicholas.

"Ripley, don't do this," a pained voice called from nearby. The familiar sound caught Chris's attention and he turned to look at its source.

Behind a nearby chain link fence, the disfigured side of his head covered in blood, stood Michael Weyland. Flanking him were two men in silver suits armed with rifles. As Michael called out to him, he again felt a painful stabbing in his chest. He then realized the gangplank he stood on was moving away from the walkway where Michael and his men stood, and moving towards a huge metal crater that seemed to have a sun as its core. Just to Chris's left, Nicholas manipulated lever on a panel filled with buttons.

"It is a magnificent specimen," Michael called out, pressing his maimed face against the nearby screen. "You must let me examine it."

As the pain in his chest rose again, Chris remembered the thing within his own chest. He suddenly understood that this Ripley that Michael was calling out had something similar within her as well. As his own gaze fell over Nicholas at the controls, he could see it in the man's face. The only escape was death – and the plan was to annilate the thing within him in the furnace burning below.

"You – you've seen this before," Chris asked Nicholas as the latter brought the gantry gangplank to a stop over the furnace's fiery core.

"Yes," Nicholas said flatly. Slowly, realization seem to settle in on his face, "I have. It killed the brothers, the woman," he paused, "We called it the dragon."

"How – how did you escape?" Chris asked, feeling an overwhelming desire to step back to the edge of the abyss behind him. He could feel the furnace's heat licking at his back, tanning his skin through his clothes.

Nicholas turned and looked at the mewling Michael across the chasm. Behind the injured man, one of the silver-clad men raised a rifle towards Nicholas. A stiff pain rippled across Nicholas's face, and he stated, "They took me." At his words, the silver-clad guard that had aimed its gun at Nicholas peeled the helmet away, to reveal the emotionless gaze of Abain.

"He wiped my mind," Nicholas snarled, pointing to Abain. "I would have never gone along with this," he shouted to Abain, shaking his fist. "I would have never saved these creatures," he pointed to Chris, as Chris again felt another searing pain rip through his chest. Nicholas collapsed to his knees as tears welled in his eyes, but then he began to laugh, uncontrollably. "I would have never _fed_ those things."

"Who are you?" Chris asked between choked spurts of blood.

"Robert," the former Nicholas replied. "Robert Morse. Sole fucking survivor of Fiorina 'Fury' 161." As Chris collapsed with a chest covered in gore, Nicholas turned to Michael, "And I am your slave no more!"

Chris let out an agonized moan as his chest surged of its own volition. A red stain began to cover his chest as Nicholas looked down at him. "I'm sorry, brother," Nicholas stated, slowly shaking his head and looking from the pain-wracked figure to the fire below. "There's only one way out of here. It has to be destroyed. You can't let them get their hands on it." He stated, indicating Michael and Abain across the fiery gulf. As Chris shuddered to control the painful spasms, Nicholas held out his hand to help the young man to his feet.

Before Chris could respond, Alexia slammed into Nicholas, pressing the thin man against the controls. "No," she roared, her black curls whipping in the fiery heat around them. "He's mine," she shouted at him. Nicholas struggled, but found Alexia's vicelike grip unbreakable. As she held him, she leaned forward, her gaze locked on his fear-struck eyes. She whispered a word at Nicholas as she pointed across the fiery abyss to Michael and Abain, and he went rigid.

The world around Chris seemed to freeze for a moment. Through the pain, he could barely glance up at Alexia. The embers of the furnace floated about her dark frame like captured souls as her gaze fell onto him. "The time to leave this existence has come," she said in a silken, yet malice-filled voice. Chris felt a final, thrumming heartbeat reverberate through his shuddering, broken body. "It is time to join me and my children."

As a screeching howl borne of the last heartbeat filled Chris's ears, he looked away from Alexia to the fire. Bloody drool poured from his lips as he finally felt the last painful pressure in his chest slip away. For a brief moment, he had the sensation that his entire body had opened to the world around him. Then he began to laugh, ignoring Alexia's perplexed expression. A moment later, and the fire consumed everything.

In the surgery suite, everything occurred in a flash. It started with Chris's chest heaving with a bloody spasm. Michael, scapel in hand, swooned. Behind him, Abain collapsed against the nearby monitor as a red spot of blood blossomed on his surgical mask. Nicholas shoved an astonished Tony aside, unleashing a single, long burst into Abain's skull. On the table, Chris's bloody chest explosively shattered, and a foot-long black armored slug uncoiled from the cavity within with a yawning hiss.

Tony, still off-balance and flecked with gore, slugged Nicholas, downing the man. Before Nicholas could recover from the blow, Tony reached down and struggled to disarm the scrawny, thrashing man. On the floor at the other side of the surgery pallet, the stunned Michael shook his head, attempting to recover his senses. He turned to see the bloody corpse of Abain sliding to the floor behind him.

Michael rose to his feet as Tony finally managed to wrench the gun from Nicholas's hand, and subdued the man with a meaty slug to the mercenary's face. Michael frowned at the gore-splattered body on the pallet. His expression quickly turned to dismay. "Where is it?" He asked, glancing around. "Where did the larva go?"

At those words, Tony pushed away from Nicholas, bringing the gun up as he carefully scanned the room. After a moment, he pointed the barrel towards a nearby wall. "There," he stated. Michael's gaze followed Tony's pointed instrument. A clear, bloody path, like that of a hideous garden snail led to a smoking, twisted ventilation grill on the wall.

"It's escaped," Michael mouthed, moving over to the hole.

Tony, who blocked his supervisor with an outstretched arm, stopped him. Tony advanced on the hole by himself, lowering to his knees and bringing the gun up cautiously. "It used its acid to bypass the safety screens," He sighed. "It could be anywhere now."

Michael cursed under his breath, before bringing up his arm and resting it on his chin to think. Slowly, he turned and scanned the room. His gaze passed from the near-headless Abain, over the disemboweled Chris to the stunned Nicholas on the floor.

"It will go to the queen," Michael finally stated. "And stay there until it matures."

"Sir," Tony countered, "It may go hunting for nourishment to grow."

"No," Michael slowly shook his head. "That was no ordinary drone within Chris," he remarked. "That was larger than the others. Not quite a queen, but I suspect a queen's guard – a praetorian. It will be fed by and remain near the queen. I'm sure of it." Michael let out a sigh and let his arm fall back to his side. "Tony, clean this mess up. I'm going to move to command. We still have those other intruders to deal with."

"What about him?" Tony queried with a jab of the gun at the prone Nicholas.

Michael gave a dismissive gaze. "Take him to a holding cell. We can determine what went wrong with his reprogramming later." He gazed darkly at Nicholas. "If we can't fix it, we can find other uses for him."

"Sir," Tony asked, "What did happen? I saw the three of you –"

"I'm not sure," Michael interrupted, rubbing his forehead. "But for a moment, I felt Chris's mind within my own. Perhaps it was a last, sort of psychic scream – before he died."

"And what about Chris's corpse," Tony inquired. "Should we harvest his genetic material for a replacement?"

After a moment, Michael replied. "No," he turned away from the corpse as he removed his surgical clothing and tossed them in a nearby waste can. "It's time to move on to other matters."


	26. Chapter 25

CHAPTER 25

In the stripped halls of Sector 1, a black, armored form slipped into a crouch. Its osseous tail wrapped about it as it brought its elongated skull down against its chest. Several hours had slipped away in the flickering halls as the creature had grown and wandered. Now, it was a little over two meters tall and covered in armored black chitin. It breathed slowly, long quiet breaths slipping between the glass-like teeth and over the steel cable tendons that held its jaw in place. Though there were no eyes upon the elongated, shield-shaped head, its preternatural senses kept it informed of every shift within the empty halls.

It had come here, resisting the call of its queen. It preferred the dark and quiet of these halls to the agitated corridors it had slinked through earlier. Fearful cries and bursts of bullet fire had driven away the silence in those corridors several times. Black smoke had eaten through other halls, liquefying possible meals the creature could have fed on.

The many barriers it had passed early on were little more than a nuisance, easily circumvented by smaller vents or other passages. However, as it had grown, the sealed doors and armed turrets had presented more and more of a problem. Its final foray before it had retreated to the abandoned sector had taken it inside the domicile of a gangly young woman with raven hair. At the time of the encounter, it had been half one of the soft humanoid's head shorter than its prey. The screams and the meal had drowned out the call that had pulled at the rear of its consciousness. After feasting, it had stealthily made its way to the abandoned sector.

As the creature momentarily dwelt on the murder, it again felt the faint call of its queen. Before, where the call had been a gentle lure it suddenly became a firm command – to protect. Piqued by the change in tone, the creature rose from its crouched position and carefully made its way towards the fore of the sector. It was too large to crawl in the ductwork and false floorings or ceiling like its brethren and had avoided the cameras where it could on its way in, destroying them where it could pass unseen.

Carefully, the ponderous creature made its way to the hub of the first subfloor. It had grown to almost three meters in height, and it thirsted to grow more. As it reached the heavy doors to the central hub, the creature became increasingly hesitant and cautious. There was a chance the queen's call was a trap - the humans and other invaders may have gained the upper hand in the fight between them and sought to draw the queen's children back into subjugation. However, its powerful senses did not perceive a threat beyond the doors, and proceeded forward cautiously.

The creature used its steel-plated talons to dig into the metal of the doors and separate them. They groaned in protest, but the huge creature continued to push, until it could wedge its own form between the door frame. Once through it released the doors, leaving the bent metal to throb and strain at closing behind it.

Though the creature did not need light to maneuver about, the once-bright fluorescent lighting that had filled the room now flickered and sputtered. The chairs and tables that had comprised the seating in the nearby cafeteria was in shambles, with many of the tables turned on their side and marked with bullet holes or sprayed with human gore. The smell of cooked and rotted meat had replaced the fine smells of dinner, and the multitude of conversations were replaced with deafening silence. Only the crackling of uncontrolled flames in the kitchen and the buzz of the flickering overhead lights echoed in the otherwise silent underground metal-lined cavern.

The armored titan moved slowly through the abandoned area, considering the changes since it had first skirted the edge of the area. At that time, there had still been a few maimed individuals trapped by their own gore in the area. The creature had feasted on some of the still twitching remnants then, but it sensed that someone or something had since moved through the area and removed even the corpses. Despite the barren appearance of the decimated area, the slow-stepping black behemoth kept to the shadowy corners of the nearby walls, letting its senses reach out to map the room's contents.

As it neared the central elevator behind the cafeteria, it stopped. The sounds of whirring machinery within the cylindrical casement came to a abrupt halt, and with a slow sigh, the large, white doors parted. The creature held its breath, hugging the nearby shadowed wall as the orange lights within revealed the elevator's contents.

There was a heady smell of carnage that wafted from the confines of the elevator as several humanoids stepped out from within. What had once been human before now stepped out as a twisted mockery. Leathery oval of the queen's eggs filled the scooped out abdomens of the doomed facility's inhabitants. The fatty flesh that remained had melded with the egg, holding it in place. One of the being's arms lay draped over the top of the egg, acting like a seal that held the pulsing ovoid shut. Affixed with horror, the glazed over, vacant and yellowed eyes of the creature did not waver from their walking path. A resin and bony hand-like structure covered each individual's mouth and nose as a umbilical-like tendril stretched from the appendage to a tall, white humanoid in the center of the throng.

The whitish-gray umbilical cables ran to a gauntlet on the hairless humanoid's left hand. Its body was covered in chitinous armor reminiscent of the cable-covered chitin of the creature that watched from nearby. The humanoid's black eyes were devoid of emotion as it flexxed its fingers to goad the throng of a dozen mobile egg carriers to step out of the elevator.

The black behemoth stepped from the shadows with a hiss on its lips. Instinctively, it recognized the white-skinned humanoid - a race of biomechanical engineers that enslaved its race many, many thousands of generations ago.

When the engineer saw the three-meter tall armored black creature emerge from the shadows, he stopped in awe. Reigning in the egg carriers about him, he bowed as the great creature approached him, a snarl on its lips.

The creature recognized the act of supplication; its forbearer had the act seared into its racial memory. The act of contrition gave the massive, stalking creature pause. The white creature murmured something as it gestured to the eggs around it, and though the black titan did not understand the words, it understood the implication. It was asking for safe passage to transport the eggs to a place where they could be stored and used to breed more of the creature's own kind.

But instead of the intended in-bred reaction of letting the feeble humanoid pass, the ebony god snarled. This was not a subservient fostering of its race - it was kidnapping and enslavement. With a snarl, the creature creature reached within the circle, using its massive talons to slash asunder the ropy, maggot-colored tethers to the egg carriers.

As the severed lines to the egg carriers fell away, the humanoid carriers stood in place and began to scream as their overtaken minds came back to the horror of their own existence. The sounds were at first muffled, but became louder as the hand-like appendage over their mouth fell away. The white humanoid in the center was already scrambling backward, rushing to regain his feet even as he cast himself backward. The remaining, unmoving egg carrier's tethers inhibited his retreat as the huge black xenomorph pushed past the immobile, screaming humanoids.

It grabbed the remaining tendrils in its offhand, hauling the horrified white humanoid towards it. As the creature reeled the damned white humanoid in, its lips curled away from the glass-filled maw. Thick, syrupy saliva eagerly flowed from the creature's lips as it pulled the terrified hairless humanoid up towards it.

The creature's jaw parted as it came within inches of the engineer's head. Inner jaws lashed forward like an iron-hard punch, mulching the engineer's skull. The body thrashed a moment more as the gauntlet on its left hand opened and closed in spasms. The egg carriers twitched as control over them faded, and like the others, they began to let out a deathly howl as realization of their status began to overwhelm them.

The black titan pulled the remaining control cables from the gauntlet and carried the flaccid body into the elevator with it, leaving the screaming, stumbling egg carriers behind. Inside the elevator, the massive creature turned to face outward, wrapping its massive tail against its body. As the doors began to close, the chorus of the screaming egg carriers reached a fury pitch. With a focused glare at the lost egg carriers outside, the black titan gave a slight hiss, and the egg carrier came to a stop, and its slowly focusing eyes dropped to the protrusion from its abdomen. With a sickening rip, the egg carrier ripped its arm away from the top of the egg it held, breaking the seal that held the ovoid closed. As the black titan lowered its head within the elevator, the leathery flesh atop the egg peeled back and the stirring within slowed. Several of the other egg carriers around the first became quiet, and then they too began to tear their arm free of the ovoid they carried. The doors of the elevator slammed shut as something leaped from within the first carrier's egg, overtaking its carrier. As the elevator automatically began to descend, the black titan could still hear the screaming above, though it was slowly fading.

The elevator continued to descend, briefly stopping and opening at each level on its way down. The black, armored beast within remained inside as each level slipped by, its eyeless gaze taking in the carnage at each abandoned level. When the elevator stopped at the third sublevel, the creature moved forward, wrenching and twisting the doors open, locking them in place. It momentarily glanced upward to behold a twisted, resin-covered turret aimed at the door. Taking a moment to carefully observe its surroundings with its enhanced senses, the creature slowly stepped out, dragging the corpse of the mutilated engineer in the coils of its tail. It passed the body from its tail back to its hands as entered the circular lobby that led out to the four sectors of the level. With slow, measured steps it made its way to the huge doors that marked Sector 10. It gave a low hiss as it approached the closed doors and carefully examined them with its free hands and a close wave of its maw.

The creature's attention went to a flashing panel beside the massive door. For a moment, the black-clad titan eyeless gaze flitted between the panel and its free hand. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, it brought up its massive hands and gently tapped several of the buttons in slow sequence.

It was met with a negatory burp of noise from the panel, to which it gave a howling screech. The creature's fist smashed the panel, silencing the red light. The thing's massive talons tore at the wiring inside, pulling a heap of multi-colored wiring to the floor. The remains of the panel sparked and hissed in protest, but the creature's only reaction was to sweep its sensory vision back toward the massive, unyielding door. But the door remained unresponsive.

Side-stepping back to the door, the massive creature took three steps back and turned its armored shoulder towards the door. Then, with a mighty lunge, it hurled itself against the steel. Metal protested against the attack, and dented where the creature struck it - but held. Letting out a grunt, the massive creature again backed away, preparing to hurl itself against the door.

That was when a energy-charged spear whistled through the air and struck the massive creature in its side. The force was barely enough to puncture through the black chitinous plate of the creature, but it was enough to make it sidestep instead of hurl itself at the door.

Bringing all its senses to bear, the huge black behemoth whirled in the direction of the attack. Some ten meters to its side, it could sense the energy-shrouded shape of another humanoid nearby. As before, its racial memories and personal experience informed the tall creature exactly what its foe was - a Yutja. A predator, now dropping its cloak as it knew it had been detected.

As the mottled-skin creature drew a razored disk from its hunting pack, the black behemoth turned to face its foe, taking a martial stance and roaring in defiance at its opponent.


	27. Chapter 26

CHAPTER 26

The Yutja twisted as it hurled the razor-sharp disk at its opponent. The three-meter tall armored creature responded with amazing agility, lurching underneath the spinning disk that was aimed at its thin neck. As it dodged beneath the whirling disc, the creature lunged forward, closing the distance between the two with two-meter strides.

The spinning disc that had flashed past the black titan attempted to alter its course and return at the Yutja's cybernetic command, but the hallway was too narrow. With a metallic clink the disc burrowed into the inner wall and held fast. The Yutja responded by unfurling its metal wristblades, and a high pitched hum began to rattle the razor-sharp blades as the huge, nightmarish creature hurled towards it.

A little more than an arm's distance away, the black-clad creature hurled the two-meter tall engineer's body at the Yutja, catching it across the chest and knocking it to one knee with the force. Thrown off-balance, the titanic creature skated to a stop, whirling its tail about as the Yutja feebly slashed at the air before it. The flat side of the barbed tip resoundingly smacked against the creature's faceplate, cracking one lens and knocking the Yutja back onto its hindquarters.

With a single step forward the taller titan reached out and grasp the Yutja by its forearms, crushing and snapping the blades off with the force of its grip. In response, the pinned Yutja gave a clicking growl and a silver apparatus on its shoulder unfurled, as a brilliant three red dots formed on the black hide of the great titan.

The onyx titan twisted away from the red beams as if attempted to retain its grip on its enemy. Three blue pulses of energy lanced out from the weapon at the armored titan. The first blast glanced across the creature's side, melting the chitinous armor as it whizzed past. The second shot missed entirely, but the third caught the demonic titan along the arm, sending up a spray of black chitin and yellow, acidic blood.

The blow did not sever the massive creature's arm, but was enough to make it release its foe and withdraw with a wildcat-like screech. The raised Yutja landed on its feet with cat-like grace and brought its vision up to its wounded enemy. The silver weapon on its shoulder moved in unison, tracking what the predator gazed at. However, before the Yutja could capitalize on the attack with a follow-up strike, the armored titan used its massive tail to pull the Yutja's feet out from under it, sending the lightly armored warrior on its back.

Using its tail again like a third hand, the mighty creature stabbed at the fallen Yutja, but it too proved to be quick as it rolled aside of the tail and retaliated with another plasma blast that barely missed the broad headshield of the black-clad creature.

For a second, both retreated from the other as lashing tail and vision-following blaster tracked each opponent. The Yutja held a wide, beckoning stance as the armored behemoth half-crouched, holding its smoking limb and hissing at its opponent. The Yutja watched the twitching tail of the titanic creature as the gun's triple targeting laser drew over the creature's armored head.

In a flash, the duel concluded. The blaster found its mark, but the creature dodged aside, leaving the blue plasma bolt to connect with nothing. As the massive creature unexpectly dodged to the side, it hurled a glob of yellowish acid it had concealed in its off hand at the silver weapon. Its aim was unerring, and sparks snapped and sprayed from the weapon, forcing the Yutja to look aside.

With a spin, the massive black-clad creature came about, bringing a terrifying roundhouse across the opposite side of the Yutja's head. The strike forced its smaller opponent to the ground, knocking the metal plate free as it bounced on the metal deck beneath the two.

Before the Yutja could recover, the massive chitin-clad creature was atop it, pinning it to the ground with a knee. As racial memories warned it, the massive creature used its good hand to wrench the Yutja's left arm away from the reach of the predator's right. However, as the massive titan's eyeless gaze befell the simple leather-clad bracelet instead of a metal gauntlet swirling with red lines, it paused. Recognizing something amiss as it searched its memories, the titan slid its wedge-shaped elongated cranium forward towards the snarling, mandible-jawed Yutja's face.

The titan's smooth dome was inches from the Yutja's face as his opponent could now peer beyond the darkly translucent cranium. Underneath, an eyeless skull glared at him, at the Yutja felt a twinge as a presence began to seep into its mind.

There were surprisingly few images to sort through in the simple creature's mind. But as memories were sifted, the intruder sensed the presence of another within the Predator's mind. Pulling on the strings of the attached mental force, the behemoth's mind followed the strong tethers back towards their source.

He was met with image of Abain, seated in a machine-shrouded chair. The room around the meditating figure was small and shrouded in blurred shadows. The human's eyes were closed and he donned a lighted, pulsing helm. Mentally, the creature snarled and continued to follow the tethers, diving into the concentrating human's mind.

The figure mentally struggled against the contact, but was no mental match for the black-clad titan. Delving into the human's struggling, resisting mind the creature replayed the memories of the last few hours.

"Abain," Michael Weyland called out in the flickering, slowly focusing memory. The elder man had entered a computer-filled room where Abain and a handful of others stood. As he had called out the Phillipinno's name, Michael had doffed his coat and laid it over a nearby table. A nearby attendant took the coat and hung it up as Michael moved forward to Abain. "What is our status?" Michael queried as he neared the slimmer man, whose attention was focused on the myriad of video monitors and tactical displays set before him.

"Things are settling somewhat," Abain replied. "Patterns are starting to form. We may have this situation under control very soon."

"Is the Queen safe?" Michael asked, glancing at the screens before him and noticing with concern several of the monitors were dead with static, while others panned over the blood-strewn corpses of quiet corridors and rooms.

"For the moment," Abain responded, "At least from our intruders."

"Speaking of the intruders," Michael asked, searching the monitors and tactical display, "Where are they?"

Abain pointed to a side monitor where the three figures could be seen. They casually rested in what appeared to be a conference room. One of the three lay on a table, covered in gore.

"What happened?" Michael asked, pulling his glasses from his shirt pocket.

"The turret on sublevel three surprised them," Abain stated, "Their leader took several shots to the chest – and his leg was severed by a burst of fire."

"I see the chest wounds," Michael stated, leaning forward to examine the image on the monitor. "But he appears to have both legs."

"Yes, sir," Abain nodded, pulling the image up to the center display, splitting it between the tactical display previously there. "After the injury, they retreated back to the second sublevel. I sent a patrol to strike at them, but it turned out to be a folly."

Michael glanced at Abain, peering over his glasses, "Explain," he urged.

Abain stiffened slightly. "Our standard weapons cannot seem to bypass their defenses," Abain explained. "We had been able to delay them up until now, but I had hoped in their weakened and disheartened state it was possible to overwhelm them. Unfortunately, they dismantled the attack force – literally. They dismembered one of the mercenaries and, with some modification, used his leg to replace the one their leader lost. Further, they liquefied one of the other mercenaries and proceeded to use his material to seal and heal the wounds to the injured individual's chest."

Michael's attention flicked back to the monitor, "Incredible," he murmured.

"Indeed," Abain countered. "They appear to be contemplating their next move."

"Have you been able to determine how they found us – and what their purpose is?"

Abain nodded affirmatively. "I have been monitoring their communications. They are after the queen herself."

"Indeed?" asked Michael, intrigued.

"The queen has not been idle either," Abain noted. "Her drones have been abducting individuals since even before we detected the presence of the engineers. From the increased number of reports we have had, she is creating more drones from the abductees – at a rather surprising rate."

"I thought the rogue drones had been disposed of," Michael frowned at Abain, then asked, "How many?"

"Twenty-three abductions have been confirmed so far," Abain noticed. "The initial abductions were somewhat random – targets of opportunity, primarily," Abain explained. "However, since Chris's recovery, the abductions seem to be focusing on our armed security staff."

"Does she know these engineers are coming for her?" Michael queried. "Is she displaying signs of intelligence?"

"It appears that is indeed the case," Abain replied. "She seems to be mentally directing her drones – preparing ambushes, circumnavigating patrols and other signs of reasoned thought and planning."

"Fascinating," Michael stated, glancing back to the display. "Are we secure here, then?"

"I believe so," Abain replied. "The primary activity is occurring in the levels above us. I do not believe she is interested or perhaps aware of our presence in this sector," He paused, then added, "I have moved the _Ikelos_ to a safe position nearby if we need to retreat to a more secure location."

"I will not abandon this base and its research," Michael countered dryly.

Abain nodded. "I feel the situation is controllable," Abain agreed, "However, the engineers have parked their craft on the water's surface above us. Considering the size of the ship, there may be several more ready to join the fray, even if we manage to repel these initial three. Further, they keep referring to the queen as 'their property'," Abain stated plainly. "We have been able to determine they tracked the queen to this location by means of an implanted beacon."

"Why haven't they retrieved her before this time?" Michael asked. "She's been sitting on the ocean floor for hundreds of years. Why now?"

"The beacon is powered by the queen's own metabolism," Abain explained. "It did not activate until she was recently revived."

"I thought she had belonged to the Yutja," Michael grunted.

"Apparently, that assumption was mistaken," Abain replied. "From the conversations I have overheard and intrepreted, the Yutja only purchased rights to hunt her offspring – the queen belongs to the engineering race – or so they claim."

Behind Michael, the door to the command center opened and Administrator Tony entered, wiping his hands.

"Claim?" Michael asked, with a sidelong glance to Tony. He paused as Tony ignored him, his gaze blank and emotionless. He regarded Abain for a moment, then questioned, "Have you been speaking with them?"

Abain was silent a moment. "Yes." He finally answered.

"What have you discussed?" Michael asked slowly as he straightened, noticing that two mercenaries had drawn towards Abain from the door he had entered.

"Terms for an exchange," Abain stated emotionlessly.

"You're not trading the queen-," Michael hesitantly started, glancing for a moment to Tony. However, the tall man made no response to Michael's gaze upon him, and instead continued to stare straight ahead at Abain.

"I am," Abain replied. "They only desire the queen and the unhatched eggs," Abain stated, moving around Michael to stand between the man and the display and nodding to Tony, who idly nodded back. "The engineers have no interest in the drones, unlike us." Abain smiled at Michael's frown. "Further, since we have opened communication, we can further barter for additional eggs – or a queen of our own."

"Bargain for a queen of our own?" Michael spat, at which Tony flinched and began to move forward, "That queen belongs to the Company," Michael barked, but was quickly restrained by the two guards at a flick of Abain's wrist.

"Not any longer," Abain finally smiled. "She's a commodity – to be traded for our own survival. And a few bioweapon specimens for study and augmentation."

"You can't do this," Michael decried, struggling. "I'm in charge of this facility – and this research."

"Not any more, you're not," Abain stated sardonically with a glance to Tony. Abain turned back to the display, and with a wave of his hand, he stated, "Dispose of him." To a technician nearby, he stated, "See if you can get Ares Corporation back on line. We may need to consolidate resources to reacquire the queen specimen without further weakening our position."

As the two guards removed the protesting Michael from the room, Tony moved up to Abain. "The praetorian specimen escaped." He said slowly.

"I am aware of that," Abain nodded, pointing to a monitor focused on the empty surgery room. "We have been monitoring its progress, however. It is currently navigating the ductwork on sublevel 2. It will probably feed soon."

"Then you are aware-," Tony began.

"That I am the last one left?" Abain finished. "Yes. I felt my 'twin's death in the surgery suite. Which you were incapable of stopping."

"No," Tony glowered. "That the specimen is acting erratically."

Abain glared at Tony. "According to Michael's hypothetical predictions, yes. According to observed activity, no." Noting Tony's unease, Abain queried, "What has you unsettled?"

Tony was silent a moment, then stated, "After what I observed in the surgery suite, I believe Chris may have been in psychic contact with the queen herself – just before his … death. The praetorian might not be acting under the queen's direction."

Abain continued to glare at him, and as a feral smile crept onto Tony's lip, Abain blinked. "No," he stated in a drawn out breath as his eyes suddenly scanned the slightly unfocused room. "It's not possible…" He whirled, turning to a fading image of a technician. "You!" he barked at the blurred image. "I want specimen 64, the Yutja, brought out of stasis – and armed." Pushing past Tony, Abain pointed at another individual, "You there, power up Lab 7." He turned to Tony, shaking, "It's time to go hunting."

Tony's gaze did not waver from Abain even as the room around them faded into nothingness. Abain doubled in pain and then shouted at the towering, advancing Tony. "Get…out…of my mind!" he roared. Tony only laughed.


	28. Chapter 27

CHAPTER 27

The wounded praetorian slipped back from the prone Yutja. As it backed away, with a sneer it brought about its tail. With an unearthly graceful crack of the barbed tail, it pierced the Yutja's right eye through to the brain, leaving the somewhat stunned creature thrashing and howling on the ground before it stopped twitching and lay in a growing pool of greenish goo. Without another word, the praetorian withdrew, disappearing into the shadows that filled the majority of the corridors.

The backlash from the Yutja's wound forced Abain to tear the control helmet off his head. He took a moment to gasp for air as the nearby technician in the small room advanced, asking if the director needed assistance. Regathering his composure, Abain held out his hand to stop the technician's advance. "Track it," he hissed, tossing the worthless helmet aside. "We need to know where it is going. I don't want it to interfere with our agreement with the engineers," Abain commanded.

"It took out the cameras in the corridor," the technician replied as Abain pulled up his own console. "Microphonic trackers in the area indicate it –," the technician paused, listening, "it is heading for the stairs."

Abain's hands curled into fists. "Do we have any turrets remaining on the fourth sublevel?" Abain asked.

"Turret two is operational, fully loaded with AP ammunition," the technician called back.

"That should deter it for the moment," Abain frowned. "I assume the tracking camera is still active?"

"Yes, sir – bringing it up now," the technician stated and a moment later the lime and chartreuse targeting view of the gun camera appeared on Abain's control screen, adjacent to the floor map that tracked the heavy steps of the praetorian. The targeting display slowly swung in a small arc, displaying an empty hall. Abain watched with baited breath as the noisy footsteps of the praetorian reached the fourth floor and the nearby stairwell door. Then, the echo disappeared as the creature came to a stop.

"What happened?" Abain asked.

"I – I don't know," the technician stammered, flicking through his controls. "The microphonics are working, but I'm no longer detecting any movement from the creature – or breathing. Or any sign of life."

Abain held his own breath a second, thinking. "It's smart," he whispered, "It's waiting for me to come to it." Abain turned to the technician, and queried, "Alert the nearest security team, and ensure they're heavily armed. I want this thing taken down."

"Sir," the technician responded, "I'm picking up movement on the third floor just outside Sector 10," there was a pause as the technician deciphered his panel's output. "I… think it is two drones. They're moving towards the stairwell."

Abain grunted. "The engineers assured me they had pacified all of the queen's pawns," he glared at his own monitor as he watched the two markers swiftly move into the stairwell. "They wouldn't dare to storm this sector; the turret would cut them to ribbons before -"

At those very words, Abain noted on the targeting monitor the door to the stairwell open. Something small and quick raced from the open doorway, moving too fast for even the turret to track. A glittering streak loomed toward the turret and a moment later, the screen fogged with static.

Abain slammed his fist into the metal frame of the panel before him. "What just happened?" he barked.

"I-I'm not sure," the technician floundered, checking his panel. "Some sort of projectile took out the outer defense turret."

"I know that," Abain seethed. He thought for a moment. "That's not possible," he finally stated, remembering the throwing disc the Yutja had hurled at the praetorian earlier. It fit the visual profile, but how could the creatures have directed it to strike the turret? It's guided path was electronically controlled by the Yutja's backpack computer.

"Are the secondary turrets operational?" Abain queried.

"Yes," the technician nodded. "I have also sealed the outer pressure door to this sector and all external ducting. We're running on a sealed system now. Our own security force is on full alert as well."

"Where is the security team you're dispatching from?" Abain asked.

"A squad of four, led by Stevenson is departing Sector 10 now," the technician stated. "They should intercept the xenomorphs in five minutes. They've been armed with electrocarbines and a VM-10 rocket launcher to take on the praetorian."

"Patch in their squad camera," Abain ordered. "We don't need them to get sloppy and spray acid everywhere."

A distant, heavy thrum echoed through the control room. The nearby technician tensed as Abain took a deep breath. "Sir?" the technician asked.

"It's at the door," Abain nodded at his tactical display, noting the repeating, reverberating thrum was coming from the heavy airlock door that was the sole access to the sector. "It should take it some time to get through, though." Several more booming, steady strikes echoed through the room before it suddenly became quiet.

"Sir, should we move away from this lab to a more secure area?" the technician asked, grasping the sides of his panel to keep from outwardly showing fear. "Perhaps the sector command center?"

Abain slowly shook his head negatively. "Did another squad intercept?" Abain queried, noticing that Stevenson's squad was still in the process of transferring from Sector 10 to the main central core corridor on sublevel three.

"Ah, no sir," the technician shook his head negatively as he inspected the tactical map. "It's simply stopped."

Abain continued to watch the monitor as two blips suddenly flared to life in the stairwell between sublevels three and four, indicating the xenomorphic cohorts were again active. He was somewhat surprised they were still hanging back from the larger, most likely acting as a rear guard. Abain inwardly smiled. The mercenaries should handily dispatch them before dealing with the praetorian. "What is taking Stevenson's team so long?"

The technician watched the mercenaries on his own monitor and made an inquiry to their leader. "The praetorian apparently damaged the electronic controls to the outer door," he reported. "They're running a bypass. They should be through momentarily."

Abain nodded, then froze as he noticed the two markers indicating the praetorian's xenomorphic cohorts were moving up the stairs. As realization dawned on him, he whirled to the technician. "Tell them to stop, NOW," he ordered.

The technician relayed the orders, but it was too late. Abain overheard the heavy hydraulics whir open, followed by the cougar-like screech of a pair of xenomorphs. There was the sound of gunfire and the confused shouts of the mercenaries. The last sight and sound that filled the head camera of the mercenary leader was that of a xenomorph clasping the man by the side of his skull as the creature brought its eyeless head forward. As the jaws parted to reveal the inner maw, the man let out a scream before the entire picture died to static.

The massive marker that indicated the praetorian's presence flared to life as Abain watched it stride away from the door at the current sector, moving back toward the stairwell.

"Seal that door to Sector 10," Abain called to the technician.

"I – I can't," he stammered as he pounded at the controls. "The override is still cycling it open, I can't control it."

"Smart," Abain frowned, "Too damn smart." He stated, collapsing back in his chair.

Those who had previously been to Sector 10 would no longer have recognized it. A vast, leathery bubble, held in place by giant femurs stacked around its base and made of a blackish-gray material replaced the distant Lab 10's rounded rectangular shape. Yellowish, muscular strands of resin held the great bones in place and likewise served as anchor points to the mole-ridden leather bubble.

Ropey, root-like tendrils reached out from the building, covering the floor as they stretched and consumed nearby buildings in vertically spanning ribs. The leaning command center was overrun with the vine-like threads. Bone columns lashed together with translucent muscular fibers overlaid the metal supports that once held it aloft. Wide steps of rib-like bone lazily wound up to an oval opening of the tendril-shrouded building, replacing the half-collapsed staircase. Condensation dripped from multiple points across the stalactite covered ceiling, and a thin layer of mist shrouded much of the sublevel to the sector.

With slow, heavy steps, the praetorian advanced through the re-engineered corridor, flanked by the two smaller xenomorphs that flitted between walking erect and bending low to examine their surroundings with their eyeless senses.

As the praetorian neared Lab 10, a figure stepped into view. A somewhat portly humanoid stood fast, seemingly dressed in its own bones and held together with ribbed cables. The praetorian instantly recognized it as an engineer, though unlike the other it had encountered, this one was dressed in protective armor and exuded no alarm at encountering the titanic xenomorph – clearly, it was prepared for this encounter.

The praetorian towered even over the two-meter tall humanoid that stood a handful of meters away. The engineer's arm melded into a pulsing, cable-shrouded pulp of metal and breathing flesh. Wisps of black smoke rhythmically expelled from along the bulbous shaft as it pointed it at the approaching praetorian. In its other hand, it held a small, pulsing red orb. With each pulse, the praetorian felt a throbbing, bass-like force reverberate throughout its body. The engineer's face was hidden behind an elephantine, skull-like mask. Bassoon, musical tones emanated from the figure. Though the exact words were unfamiliar to the praetorian, instinctively it knew that the engineer was expecting it to submit to its will.

On its flanks, the black-clad warrior xenomorphs halted, balking and hissing as they fought against recoiling at the same sensations the praetorian felt emanate from the tiny orb. Their screech-like calls seemed to be angrily directed at the praetorian, but they likewise seemed to refuse to move forward, as if some invisible leash had caught them. The praetorian seemed to glance at each momentarily, then lowered to one knee before the engineering, bowing its head as its knee came to rest on the grated metal floor.

The engineer touched the tube-like appendage that fed from its mouth to its chest and in a lower, but still music-laced tone uttered a litany of tones, apparently communicating with its brethren.

The praetorian's signal came as a slight flick of its tail. At the subtle motion, both xenomorphs leapt forward with a boisterous roar. The engineer shifted to bring his weapon arm to fire at the leaping creature. As he did, the praetorian wrenched a section of the floor grating in front of it and flung it at the engineer.

The massive metal section caused the spray of foaming black smoke to arc wide, only glancing one of the two leaping xenomorphs. Where the oily smoke struck the creature's left arm and side, the xenomorph's black chitin dissolved like smoke. It landed short with a screech, collapsing on the bloodless, wounded side and thrashing in pain.

The other xenomorph caught the engineer full on, knocking him to the ground and wrestling with the figure. It wrapped it's bone-ribbed tail around the engineer's weapon, yanking at the still smoking weapon to keep it off-balance.

The massive engineer easily pushed the gangly xenomorph off it, though it could not unwrap the barbed tail from its weapon. Using his free hand, the engineer reached to dangling web of rotten flesh about its waist and withdrew a conch-shell like item, holding it by the tapering end. At the engineer's touch, a black, tongue-like blade emerged from the other end, drooling with hissing, acidic fluid.

It brought the weapon about to sever the xenomorph's tail when the praetorian bodily lifted the armored engineer from the ground by the tube-like protrusion of its mask. The force of the praetorian's movement ripped the bone-like tube open as it flung the engineer back, spattering bluish bile-like fluid from the broken pipe.

The force likewise hurled the smaller, still attached xenomorph along with the engineer several meters before it collapsed on the corpulent humanoid's chest. The two lay in a heap for several moments before the xenomorph recovered first, and it bodily wrapped itself around the engineer's weapon and began to pull it from the humanoid's shoulder.

Nearby, the injured xenomorph had regained its footing and recovered from the pain and shock of the loss off its right arm and a crescent-shaped section of its midsection. With a howl, it hurled itself at the engineer, using its body to pin the thrashing engineer to the ground and keep him from pulling off the other xenomorph that tore at his weapon.

By the time the praetorian reached the engineer bluish blood was spewing from where the uninjured xenomorph was bodily disarmed the humanoid of its weapon. With a growl, the now adjacent praetorian rose to its full height. With a single fluid motion brought up its armored, booted heel and brought it down furiously on the engineer's already mangled face. It did not stop bringing down its foot until the chitin-covered heel resounded against the metal grating below the engineer.

The smaller xenomorphs were slow to release the limp form of the engineer. The uninjured xenomorph cast aside the partially dismember arm it had grasped as the other rose, screeching at the praetorian as if it were protesting against the larger from stealing its kill. The larger only gave a terse growl and the two lesser acquiesced and rose, leaving the limp and maimed engineer's body behind.

Stepping past the carnage, the praetorian continued toward the large dome that been Lab 10. The other two xenomorphs now moved ahead of their larger brethren, sensing the nearby presence of their queen. However, as the first reached the ovoid entrance to the strange building, it found itself suddenly enwrapped in a gossamer tendril. It howled as its limbs pulled taught to its side from the constricting filament, and it collapsed to the ground, helpless. The gossamer, enwrapping strand continued to tighten, biting through the black chitin and smoking as it did so. Moments later the gossamer line tensed, dissecting the trapped xenemorph into hundreds of small goblets of chitin-covered chunks.

The praetorian paused as it heard the pained screech of the Queen within lament the loss of one its children. The surviving, injured xenomorph pulled back at the praetorian's wordless command, its eyeless gaze not leaving the doorway where the remains of its companion hissed and bubbled on the tendril-covered floor.


	29. Chapter 28

CHAPTER 28

The praetorian rose to its full height, taking in a deep breath as it did so. The smaller xenomorph retreated to the larger's side, obedient and ready to accept the larger's command.

From within, a series of screeching howls started to rise. As the praetorian's mind reached out, it could sense it brethren within the facility, but it could not reach them. It was as if it were passing through a dunjon, capable of hearing the cries of the prisoners within for release, but lacking the keys to free them from their cells.

Its mind finally located and touched the Queen's, to find it barred from entering as the others had been. He could sense her rage and despair in her captured state, but helpless to do anything against it. The praetorian could sense the engineer had installed some infernal machine within the heart of the hive that instilled the compliance of its brethren and shut them off from the queen's direction. He could sense, but not approach near the mind of the engineer; it was prickled and barbed as if surrounded by coils of poisonous thorns.

The praetorian's mind fell back to the Queen. Unable to merge with it, it found it could still pass information between them. It inquired to the state of the hive, receiving images and impressions of a vast bone-lined valley littered with the queen's unhatched eggs. The enslaved drones had arranged the clutch for transport, awaiting the return of the engineer's egg carriers. The praetorian informed the queen with an empathic transmission that the egg carriers would not be returning. He felt the queen inwardly smile at the information, before he pressed her from more empathic information.

The queen's hatred fell to the presence of the lone engineer, looming near the massive, pulsing red-bulbed engine that enslaved the minds of her children and kept them distant from her own thoughts. It was difficult to focus – as her mind drifted, the praetorian's own directed her back, focusing her again on the machine.

The queen passed impressions of great cables leading off from the lower section of the machine. They thrummed with pulses of blue plasma as they burrowed beneath the floor of the hive and into the human's plain metal walls of the sublevel below. She had seen the device arrive and erected and could sense it drew its life from the facility's own power grid. But with her restraints in place, she was powerless to disconnect it, and could not influence her children to free her.

Again the praetorian directed the queen's attention away from her own isolation and back to the state of the hive. It sensed in her the presence of another being – neither human, nor engineer, nor his own kind. As the praetorian drew up the images from the queen's mind, recognition settled in. The being was Tony – the android. The praetorian smiled; to the queen the android's mind was a null, no more interesting than the fabricated walls and computer machinery that made up the facility. But the praetorian sensed opportunity. It reached away from the queen momentarily to search for the presence of the android, but could not locate it with the touch of its mind – and it was out of reach of its other senses. It would have to get closer. Much closer - most likely, an unfettered line of access unblocked by walls or other obstructions.

The Queen tugged at the praetorian's mind, calling back to it, pleading with it to not be left alone. In return, the praetorian's mind turned back to again caress its queen. It would return soon, it assured her. But for now, there was work to be done, and it softly pulled away from the queen's mental presence.

The praetorian's mind returned to its own self, and its eyeless gaze fell to the injured companion beside it. The smaller being had once inhabited the shell of a hated enemy, but now the praetorian needed the warrior's assistance. As the plan passed between the two, the smaller xenomorph gave slight balk at its part, but nodded its agreement to enact the plan to save, and free, its queen.

With the plan wordlessly communicated between the two, the smaller loped off on three limbs, seeking an open passage to the lower sublevel beneath them. As it did, the praetorian slowly closed toward the lab, careful not to expose itself to the orange light that radiated out from the open orifice at the hive's front.

Within the dim hive, the suited engineer continued to observe the entryway, holding the skull-topped haft of spine in its massive right hand. Tony stood beside the armored figure, his own tall frame dwarfed by the alien being.

"Mr. Abain," Tony spoke into the subcutaneous transmitter imbedded in his throat, "The praetorian is here. One of the xenomorphs that accompanied it made an approach to the hive," after a pause, he stated, "The engineer made an example of it."

"The subduction engine has no effect on pacifying it, then?" Abain's voice faintly echoed through the ear speaker.

"It appears not," Tony stated, "Or at least it has not approached close enough to be overcome. Its subservience in the outer corridor was a ruse," Tony reported. "It was able to not only dispatch the engineer sent to intercept it, but it managed to retain contact with the two drones that had accompanied it."

"That is disappointing," Abain replied, "The technology is marvelous – worth trading for, but it apparently does have it limits." There was a pause, and Abain inquired, "Do you believe the queen is secure?"

"It's unclear," Tony replied. He straightened, "We'll know in a moment. I can hear the praetorian approaching."

"Keep me informed," Abain stated, "with the security cameras down in your area, you are my only link to what is going on in there. Protect the queen, at whatever cost." In a low, hissing voice, Abain added, "Even if that means abandoning your companion."

"Understood," Tony replied, and then he let his hand drop from the side of his throat to grasp the electrocarbine hanging from his side. In the engineer's own language, Tony informed his companion of the praetorian's approach as he pulled his own rifle to the ready. The hairless, white-skinned individual only grimaced before holding his own weapon at the ready.

A low growl echoed from outside, reverberating through the hive's interior. Several confused counter calls from the docile drones replied from within, but the black-clad creatures remained coiled in fetal positions within their alcoves, unmoving. Tony informed his companion in the engineer's language that he suspected the praetorian was attempting to rouse its brethren to action. The engineer nodded, and placed his hand on a series of colored bumps at the base of the infernal machine. Glancing at the machine as Tony continued to watch the entranceway, the engineer made several adjustments until the xenomorphic catcalls faded into silence.

At the silence, the engineer turned from the controls to nod at Tony. However, Tony's expression was blank, his stance frozen. The engineer voiced a puzzled query to the frozen android. Seemingly snapped out of his fugue, Tony slowly turned his head to acknowledge the engineer.

Tony then fired the electrocarbine at the stunned engineer, catching him in the left chest with a crackling line of lightning and throwing the engineer backward against the towering machine. With a roar on his lips, the engineer recovered quickly, pulling up the gore-covered spinal rod and pointing the skullish tip at Tony.

However, the android was already in motion. With one arm, it deflected the engineer's outstretched arm, causing the monofilament line from the skull's agape maw to fire wildly and miss. As the cable thrashed over the hive's bone-encrusted surface, Tony grabbed the engineer by his bony armor and reared back a meaty fist.

The engineer shoved back at Tony, its own massive strength a match for the android's. Tony's strike missed, impacting the bone-like machinery of the biomechanical device behind him. The engineer's push hurled Tony across the floor and over the precipice of the engine's dais to the fog-shrouded pit below.

Tony rose, the clinging fog obscuring him up to the waist, amid rows of quiescent eggs. Likewise, the engineer rose back to his own feet, bringing the strange rod about. Tony was slightly faster, and a shot from his electrocarbine lanced the weapon in the engineer's hand, sending it sprawling into the nearby mist.

Tony let the weapon fall to his side as he heard it recharging. He raced back to the dais as the engineer atop it drew a wicked, curved dagger from the boot of its biomechanical suit. Tony tackled the engineer without pause, driving the massive figure back against the machine as it plunged the knife into the androids back several times, seemingly to no avail. As the engineer stabbed, Tony slammed his powerful fists into the engineer's sides, until the tall humanoid spat up a dark globule of its own blood.

Enraged and cursing in its own language, the engineer grasped Tony by his gray work uniform and spun him away. Tony landed on his back at the edge of the dias, with his lower back and feet dangling off. The engineer pulled its back away from the engine and advanced on Tony. As it moved forward, it ripped a cable from its side. As the length of cable came free, barbs emerged from its surface and began to glow with a blue energy pulse.

It brought the whip-like structure back as Tony retrieved his electrocarbine. It had finished recharging and he fired prone at the approaching engineer. However, with a flick of its wrist, the whip absorbed and deflected the shot. With another flick, the engineer brought the weapon down at Tony. Though Tony managed to roll aside of the attack, the whip hissed and burned a line in the dais where it had struck.

As the engineer recovered the weapon from the mighty blow, Tony rolled up to his feet. Hunching low, he kept his distance as the engineer whirled the glowing weapon about himself. Tony observed as he crept away from the advancing engineer and waited until the whirling weapon streaked behind the engineer before he advanced. He caught the engineer by the hand with both of his fists and braced, bringing the weapon to a useless halt.

Frustrated in its attempts to bring the weapon to bear, the engineer brought about its other hand, grasping Tony by the throat. As it did so, though, it felt a cold shadow fall on it from behind. In a panic, the engineer whirled to look behind it.

There, less than an arm's distance away, stood the praetorian, glowering at the engineer. It had stealthily and quietly slipped into the hive unobserved during the two's battle. It seemed to tremble with the effort to stand so close to the machine, and began to shudder from the strain of being so close to it. Before the engineer could pull away, the praetorian managed to lash out, enwrapping the engineer's and Tony's hand in its own massive fist. With a single flick of its wrist, it crushed the engineer's hand, causing it to drop the weapon it had grasped.

Behind the towering praetorian, the pulsing red bulb of the infernal engine suddenly sputtered and died, throwing the hive into darkness. All around the room, the banal, animal-like cries of awakening xenomorphs filled the air. It was joined with one additional voice – the death scream of the engineer.


	30. Chapter 29

CHAPTER 29

Even without the light, the mass of xenomorphs could easily identify each other. With the infernal machine stopped, the praetorian found itself surrounded by drones and warriors, kneeling in appreciation for freeing them.

The praetorian carefully laid the maimed shell of the android Tony beside the dismembered corpse of the engineer. The awakened throng had torn the biomechanical engineer to pieces. The praetorian itself had been the one to deactivate the android it had mentally reprogrammed. It had dispatched it with a barbed strike of its tail to the android's power cell. The praetorian also took a moment to mark the passing of the wounded xenomorph that had assisted it. He could feel the last of its consciousness slipping away in the sublevel below, where it had disemboweled itself to rupture the machine's massive and protected connections to its power source.

With its enemies defeated, the praetorian turned and sought out the queen. It quickly found her at the far end of the hive, wrapped in the resin throne her subjects had devises, but likewise held in heavy cables that clung listlessly to her. When the power had been active, the cables had rippled with energy that defied any attempt to pull free. Now, they were dead tresses that simply dangled from her limbs.

She gave a cooing hiss as the praetorian approached, and it bowed at her feet. The queen gave the three-meter tall creature an affectionate stroke along its armored cheek with her own gauntlet-clad talon. Once the exchange was completed, the praetorian rose and with its eyeless gaze it examined the queen's condition.

At a flick of the smaller praetorian's tail, the swarm of drones clambered about their queen, disconnecting the offending cables and bands of spidery resin that held her in her throne of bones with animalistic shrieks of pleasure.

Once disconnected from her throne, the praetorian offered its good hand to the queen. She took the proffered limb and uncurled her massive legs to set her armored stiletto heels on the bone-like ribs of the stairs that led to her elevated seat. With a handful of steps, the massive queen reached main floor of the hive and cast her sightless gaze across the cheering legion gathered around her.

With a hiss and flick of her massive tail, the shrieking horde silenced itself. The queen brought about her massive, arrow-shaped head to gaze upon the slightly shorter praetorian at her side. _We are not free yet_, the queen empathically stated to her children. _So long as I remain marked, we will never escape those who pursue us._ With a hissing growl she canted her head, revealing the back of her neck to the tall creature beside her.

The praetorian leaned towards it queen, examining the plated armored back of the queen's neck, even running its hand over the black ridges. _I sense it beneath the armored plates_, it empathically replied to its queen. _ I cannot remove it, without grievously injuring you in the process._

Her eyeless gaze returned to lock with the praetorians. _I know_, she hissed. The praetorian was still a moment as the horde of lesser creatures about the two titans chittered nervously among themselves.

Slowly, but deliberately, the praetorian reached with both hands to grasp the back of the queen's massive neck. _We had only just met_, it soothingly hissed to her.

_We will meet again_, the queen assured itself as the praetorian's grip tightened. As the other xenomorphs sensed what was coming next and began to howl in protest, the queen emanated calming, reassuring waves of empathic commands, calming them.

_You must care for my children until my return,_ she empathically told the praetorian as it settled back to perform the task at hand. It did not respond, but instead pulled at the armored neck plates with all its might.

The queen screeched as the heavy plates came free, pulling free along with the yellowish muscles beneath. As she collapsed amid the throng of its children, the praetorian continued its bloody work, digging out the engineer's mechanism as thick, yellowish acid poured from the wound.

With the device removed, the praetorian dropped it to the hive floor and crushed it underfoot. The other drones surrounded their fallen queen, touching her along her armored sides as she quivered, gasping but unable to breathe due to her severed spine.

A last, final exhalation passed from the queen's lips, marking her final moment. There was silence in the hive for a moment. As the gathered throng stood in the silent darkness, a fearsome howl rose from one of the assembled xenomorphs. Within moments, the lone voice found an accompaniment, until the entire hive – the praetorian included – roared their rage at the darkness surrounding them.

In the lab on sublevel four, Abain staggered backward into his chair as the chilling howl of the xenomorphs filled the speakers attuned to Sector 10. For the past ten minutes, he and his flustered technician assistant had madly attempted to regain control of the situation since losing contact with Tony to some sort of computer virus that had attempted to likewise overwhelm their own system. They had only just recovered and diverted the back-up generator's power to give them some means of connecting back to the base's sensors.

In their rush to bring sensors and defenses back online, Abain had ignored an attempt to contact them from the alien ship hovering over the sea above him. He was determined he would deal with them in short order after he ensured his own position. A simple call to a not-so-distant USMC base would scramble enough aerospace fighters to deal with the unwanted intruders. But as he listened to the fury-ridden howls of the xenomorphs and noted their microphonic signatures spreading outward from Sector 10, he felt a terrible fear settle in his gut.

"Sir," the technician howled to Abain, "I'm tracking a fast-moving object descending from the engineer's ship above us."

"Another transport shuttle?" Abain asked.

"No, it's moving far too fast. It's more like -," the color drained from the technician's face as he looked up from his panel. "Like a projectile."

"What?" Abain mouthed, turning from his display to the technician.

The entire structure shook, nearly knocking Abain to the floor. Metal groaned and the loose machinery in the room toppled. One of the larger computers fell across the technician's panel, crushing it and pressing the white-coated assistant to the floor.

The rumbling lasted for several seconds, and was followed by the lights flickering and the momentary screech of alarms. When the shockwave finally passed, Abain pulled himself from the floor and wiped a dribble of blood away from his spit lip.

Seeing his assistant pinned and unmoving beneath heavy machinery, Abain manipulated his own panel, bringing up a static-laced visual interface to the ship above. He was greeted with the milky-white form of an engineer. The figure was impassionate, its black eyes betraying no emotion whatsoever.

"What is the meaning of this attack?" Abain demanded, "We had an agreement." When the figure on the screen made no reply, he repeated the statement in the engineer's own language.

Finally, the features of the engineer contorted into a snarl. It barked back a response, then the screen disappeared into blackness.

Abain stood bewildered. "I did not violate the agreement," he balked, "I didn't kill his crew," he stated, turning from the screen, realizing there was no one to hear him. "I had nothing to do with the queen's death," He protested, smashing his fist on the console. "She was going to be my triumph," he explained to the blank monitor, "She was why I did all of this," he stated in dying tones, his lone words reverberating through the otherwise silent room. He shouted helplessly to the roof, "It's not my fault!"

Another shockwave rumbled through the room, and the roof collapsed as tons of rock and seawater poured through the torn metal, crushing everything within.

EPILOGUE

Michael's eyes flickered open. The area was dim and filled with the faint sound of something scuttling nearby. Licking his dried lips, he forced his vision to clear. With a chill, he realized that he was upright, suspended from a wall by translucent, muscle-like bands that held him firmly in place. He swallowed hard as the sight of a smooth, wedge-shaped cranium lifted upwards to reveal a lipless maw of exposed steel tendons and glass-like teeth as large as his own fingers.

As he struggled, the elongated skull glided towards him, revealing the attached lower chitin-covered humanoid body that was at least three meters tall. The eyeless head stopped inches from Michael's face, breathing slowly and deliberately as it cocked from one side the other, as if examining him.

Michael, overcome with fear, could not speak, so the creature did so first. "Michael," it breathed in a heavy, grating tone that the imprisoned man barely recognized.

"Chris?" Michael asked in astonishment.

The massive creature nodded, the tendons drawing up on the face into a skeletal semblance of a smile. It drew back slightly, nodding to a much smaller xenomorph that emerged from the nearby shadows. The lesser audibly grunted and retreated into the surrounding shadows, the same dark smile on its lipless maw. Further back in the shadows, Michael heard something massive shift.

Michael struggled against his restraints. "Chris, if that is you, you can't leave me here to die," Michael pleaded. Michael glanced around, and noticed that the floor of the alien hive was several inches deep in water. All throughout the area, streams of water trickled down the walls and dripped furiously from the cracked roof into the growing pool. The smell of salt water was heavy in the air.

"What – what have you done?" Michael dared to ask Chris.

The great creature slightly recoiled, as if offended by the accusation. "They drown us all," the praetorian mouthed.

"No," Michael protested, tugging at the resin restraints that held him fast. "Chris," Michael called, drawing back the creature's attention. "Let me go and I can save us all," he explained. "I can activate the pumps – give us time to escape on the _Ikelos_. Otherwise, at this depth – you'll never survive."

Despite the lack of facial features, the creature managed to regard Michael sadly. It took a step forward and brought up a hand large enough to hold Michael's face within its grasp.

"Remember…frog and scorpion?" the thing asked.

Michael nodded vehemently. "Yes," he stated, "Yes. If you don't save me – we'll both drown," he expounded.

The praetorian splayed its fingers, revealing webbing between the triple digits. As it did so, the ridged tubes along each side of its wedge-shape head slightly heaved, momentarily revealing gill-like structures hidden in the valleys between the ridges.

"I swim," it breathed at Michael. As it noted Michael's astonished look of betrayal, it added, "Goodbye, my king," it breathed before it faded into the deep shadows, leaving Michael to scream in impotence at the departing praetorian. Alone with his own impotent roar at the darkness, Michael felt something stir within his own chest.


End file.
